


Guardianship

by inspiration_assaulted



Series: Building a Home [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Parseltongue, Powerful Harry, Romance, Single Parent Harry, Wizarding Nobility
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:17:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 36,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inspiration_assaulted/pseuds/inspiration_assaulted
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Draco chooses to live under custody of Harry Potter for two years instead of Azkaban. Lord Potter has secrets, possibly more than Draco will ever know. Can they find happiness in the same house, or will the past and the secrets destroy them both?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer for the work: If the characters or ideas exist outside of my stories, they aren't mine. I'm just playing with them for a bit. I'll put them back in the toy box when I finish, I swear.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Malfoy. You heard the sentence as well as I did. Unless you can find a member of the Order of the Phoenix who is willing to take custody of you for the next two years, you’ll have to spend that time in Azkaban. There’s simply no way around it.”

Draco stared down at his hands, frustrated. Oh, he knew Minister Shacklebolt wished he could help, but his hands were tied.

“Minister, there must be something you could do. House arrest, maybe? No wand, forbidden to leave the grounds of the Manor? Please, if I go to Azkaban, I’ll…I don’t think I would make it out.” It went against everything Draco had been taught to admit a weakness, but he was pleading for his life here. If the other prisoners didn’t kill him for being a blood traitor, the Dementors would surely drive him far past the brink of insanity, where he teetered now. Either way, it was really a one-way ticket.

Draco looked up to meet the Minister’s kind eyes. Shacklebolt was frowning in thought. The silence stretched for a moment before he seemed to come to a conclusion.

“I’m afraid I can’t do that for you, Mr. Malfoy. Your mother is restricted to the Manor, and you’re not permitted to have contact with your parents for the two year period except for Christmas. The most I can do is give you a few days to see if anyone would be willing to be your custodian. Auror Robards will fit you with a tracking cuff. If you can’t find anyone within five days, we’ll have to bring you in again and process you for Azkaban.” Draco nodded in understanding. He thought the older man looked sad. Draco knew Minister Shacklebolt was fair, and he truly believed in the testimony Potter had given at the Malfoy family trial.

Potter. There was an idea. If Potter had believed in the change in Draco enough to speak at the trial, maybe he would be willing to take him in, too. After all, only Potter’s testimony had kept the Malfoys from a family cell in the wizarding prison. In fact, Potter was the reason his mother, kind, broken Narcissa, was spared from Azkaban entirely, only restricted to the last remaining family property, Malfoy Manor. Yes, he would owl Potter.

“Very well, Minister. I understand. Thank you for everything have done.”

Draco paid no attention to Gawain Robards as he fit the soft, flexible cuff to his wrist, so close that even the thinnest knife blade could not go between his skin and the grey metal. He was far too busy thinking about his plans, how to word his letter to Potter in a way that was most likely to catch Potter’s attention.

* * *

 

Harry woke with a start when Kreacher knocked gently on his door. He sighed as he moved to open it. It had taken a week, early in the summer, to get the elf to stop popping into his room each morning, but after many curses and several knives thrown by a half asleep and startled Harry, they had agreed on knocking each morning.

“Master is to be waking up now. It is morning and Master has a special letter.” The wizened elf handed Harry a sealed envelope. The only letters Harry read anymore came from people in his year at Hogwarts, the Weasleys (though Ron always brought those with him on his visits), members of the Order, and a select few others. Anything else was deemed “fan mail” and cheerfuly burned by Kreacher.

“Thank you Kreacher. Are the boys awake yet?”

“Yes, Master. Winky gave them breakfast. They is waiting in the library.”

“Very well, Kreacher. You may go.” Kreacher popped away to clean the house, or whatever other tasks he did during the day when Harry didn’t need him. Harry had never known what those were.

He turned his attention to the letter in his hands. The parchment was high quality, smooth, the dark green ink standing out starkly on the pale background. The handwriting was neat and well formed. Someone with money, then, to have training in proper penmanship. He turned it over to inspect the seal pressed into the pale grey wax. A crest. A titled family, like his, then. Slytherin colors, of course. Most of the heirs to the noble houses were sorted into Slytherin. There had been several in his year at school, not that he had known then. Most of his learning had come from his year of solitude and self-study in the year following the Battle.

Satisfied he had learned everything he could from the envelope, he opened it to find out just _why_ a Slytherin was writing to him of all people. If it had to do with noble business, surely there were others who would be more willing to help.

**_Harry Potter,_ **

**_You must be wondering why I am writing to you. I confess, I am wondering that myself and have come to the conclusion that there is no one else I can ask for this favor._ **

**_As it is a large favor, I would very much wish to speak with you in person about it. You need not fear that I will harm you or seek revenge, as I believe you still hold custody of my wand. I promise you I have no desire to trick or attack you._ **

**_If you believe me, please come to the Manor sometime before Sunday. I am always there._ **

**_Sincerely,_ **

**_Draco Malfoy_ **

**_Heir, House of Malfoy_ **

Harry stared at the letter. What did Malfoy want from him? He wondered at the greeting for a moment before he remembered that Malfoy had been held awaiting trial when he had become titled and so wouldn’t have realized that was no longer the correct form of address. He continued to stare, lost in thought, until a shout from downstairs brought him back to the present. Hurrying through his routine morning spells, he decided to pay Malfoy a visit that afternoon. He was curious, after all. _Why wait?_ he thought.

* * *

 

Draco answered the door himself, as Natty was serving tea for his mother. He was surprised Potter had come so quickly. He had expected a wait of several days at least, if not an acerbic reply telling him to sod off, but no, there was Potter, standing on his doorstep, looking like…

Merlin, like a young god.

 _No,_ Draco told himself, _stop that. Malfoys do not ogle, it’s unbecoming. I can’t stare at him like an idiot, I have to seem like a friend and convince him to take me in and “save” me from Azkaban._ So, Draco scraped his jaw off the polished marble floor and let Potter into the entry way before leading him to the parlor where his mother waited with tea, like a proper Malfoy host.

Neither had spoken a word yet. Potter had simply nodded in greeting as Draco had floundered a bit before gesturing to the inside of the house, another surprise for Draco. He had been expecting an angry demand for an immediate explanation. This silent Potter was calm and calculating, very…unPotterish.

His mother stood up in surprise when he let Potter into the parlor, but very quickly collected herself, just as any noble woman should. She held out a hand in greeting.

“Mr. Potter, it is indeed a surprise to see you here, although a nice surprise,” she said calmly.

“Lady Malfoy, it is lovely to see you again as well, and under rather better circumstances.” Potter gently grasped her offered hand as he bent and kissed it.

Now Draco was truly shocked. When had Potter learned pure-blood manners and the proper forms of noble greetings? He took advantage of the idle small talk his mother was engaging in to study this new Potter.

He looked much the same as he always had, Draco realized. His face, while still sharply defined, had lost some of that gaunt, starving look he had in the Battle. The rest of his body had undergone much the same change, filling out with muscle. He might have even gained a few inches in height, since he stood level with Draco now.

No, it wasn’t his appearance that told Draco of drastic change, it was his bearing. He walked softly, and the way he held himself now spoke of patience and confidence. He looked around himself with gaping, noticed everything without being paranoid, and took things in without letting his thoughts play out across his face. This Potter could have been a Slytherin.

And that shocked the hell out of Draco.

His mother made a small noise of surprise, pulling Draco back into the present.

“Oh dear, your ring, I hadn’t noticed! Forgive me, I have been addressing you wrongly. It should be Lord Potter, correct?”

 _What the hell?_ Draco looked at the ring, too. It was a gold band set with a large ruby, most likely engraved with a family crest, though Draco couldn’t see which at that angle. The Potters’, he guessed. It was unquestionably a noble’s ring.

“Yes, I took my titles a few months ago, just after the end of the War. It’s quite alright, I had forgotten you hadn’t heard.” Potter smiled kindly at his mother, barely referencing the time they had been locked away, awaiting trial.

“Titles?” Narcissa asked curiously, the question mirrored in Draco’s mind.

“Yes, Potter and Black, with a few others. The goblins informed me that I’m the last scion for several Noble Houses.” The faintest hint of bitterness crept into Potter’s voice, but his smile stayed polite and charming. “Out of all the names and titles I have, the noble ones are the only I’ve chosen, and I’m very proud to carry them.”

Narcissa smiled. Potter sipped at his tea. Draco wondered if someone had polyjuiced a Slytherin noble to be Potter.

“Charming as it is to speak with you, Lady Malfoy,” Potter said, setting his tea down, “I’m afraid your son did ask me here for a reason beyond tea and a pleasant conversation.”

“Of course, you and Draco must attend to business, Lord Potter. I think I shall retire to the gardens, and, Draco, you may find me there when your business is through.” She rose, as did Draco and Potter. “I hope to see you again, Lord Potter.”

“As do I, Lady Malfoy,” said Potter, kissing the proffered hand once more and waiting until the door had shut behind her before turning to Draco.

“Lord Potter,” Draco began before a small chuckle from Potter cut him off.

“Malfoy, don’t you think after all we’ve been through and how long we’ve known each other, we can dispense with titles?”

* * *

 

If Harry had still hated Malfoy, still wanted to humiliate him, he would have loved to hear Malfoy call him “Lord Potter,” but he didn’t anymore. There was too much between them already, they didn’t need to add titles. If Malfoy was asking him for help, especially if it was about what Kingsley had told him, anything to make it easier would be welcome.

“Alright, Potter. I asked you to come here for two reasons. First, I want thank you for…for everything you have done for us. Thank you for testifying for my family. It saved my mother from Azkaban. She has to stay here for the next two years, but she can have visitors, and we can be together for Christmas. All of us, even my father, just because of what you said for us.” Malfoy looked down, like he was afraid to look Harry in the eye. “Even I only have to spend two years in prison.”

“But that’s not quite true, is it?” Harry gave a small, knowing smile when Malfoy looked up quickly. “You only have to go if you can’t find a member of the Order to take custody of you.” He paused, but Malfoy seemed to have gotten lost in his search for words, so he continued on. “It’s alright Malfoy, we’re not bitter enemies anymore. If you can’t find anyone else, I’ll take you in. Even if we still hated each other, I would do it and try to be nice, just for your mother. I owe it to her.” He smirked. “I already have custody of your wand, might as well have the rest of you too.”

Malfoy seemed surprised that everything was going his way after all. Harry knew his past behavior would have made Malfoy expect something entirely different from him, but that was then. Harry was a new person now. He had to be.

“Thank you,” Malfoy whispered, unable to meet Harry’s eyes again but no less sincere for it.

“There are two…well, I wouldn’t call them conditions, but they are things you need to know. First, I will need some help sometimes. I’m really busy and I can’t do everything, I’ll need you pitch in.” Malfoy looked up sharply again.

“What, like housework? I’m not a slave, Potter,” he said with that familiar Malfoy sneer that made Harry almost smile with nostalgia.

“No, you’re not,” Harry answered calmly. “It’s not housework or menial labor. That’s what Kreacher and Winky are for, and, no offense, but they probably cook a better meal than you could. It’s,” Harry huffed. “I can’t really explain it right now. You’ll just have to trust me that it’s not humiliating or anything and that you’ll understand more when you get there.” Malfoy frowned.

“Alright, I guess I can do that. What’s the second?”

“There are some questions you can’t ask.” Harry’s voice went harder. “Most you’ll know, because they’re the same questions I can’t ask you, but some you’ll be burning to ask and you can’t. There are some things that only I know, that I’ve never told even my closest friends. You’ll understand when you see.”

Malfoy huffed, obviously confused by Harry’s wording, but eventually he nodded.

“Great. I’ll go see Kingsley and Gawain this week and get everything sorted. I’ll leave you here to spend time with your mother this week, since I’m not allowed to let you contact her. I’ll get you and your stuff on Sunday morning.” Harry rose and offered his hand to Malfoy. He wondered if the blond was remembering the train during first year too. _This time it’s different,_ Harry thought. Everything had changed, and all those years had led up to two hands finally grasped in understanding.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco wondered if it was possible to die of surprise. He just might, before his two years with Potter were up.

When Potter had taken him Side-Along from the Manor, Draco had expected to end up outside either a quaint, dilapidated house like the Weasleys’ Burrow or another noble manor, given the multiple titles Potter now held. When they landed in park on a thoroughly Muggle street in London, Draco had been, guess what:

Surprised.

“Potter, why are we here? These are Muggle houses, it’s obvious you don’t live here,” Draco drawled, turning to him, but Potter was writing something on a scrap of paper with a Muggle pen. When he finish, he thrust it at Draco.

“Here. Read it, then you’ll understand.”

_The residence of Lord Harridan James Potter can be found at Number 12, Grimmauld Place, London_

“Got it memorized?” He took the paper back when Draco nodded. “Now say it again in your head,” he said absentmindedly, burning the paper with the flame from some odd silver contraption he flicked open and clicked.

Draco ran through what he had read and watched as Number 12 sprouted from the ground and shouldered its way into place between Number 11 and Number 13.

“Welcome home, I guess,” Potter said, brushing ash from his shirt and picking up one of Draco’s trunks. “Better get you inside and settled, I’ve left those two with the elves too long.”

Draco wondered distantly if “those two” were Granger and Weasley and why it mattered if they were left with the elves. Perhaps Granger was still going off on her harebrained scheme to free them all and get them to start demanding gold. It would never work.

Potter stopped at the top step to unlock the door with his wand. As soon as it swung open, Draco was assaulted by a wave of noise.

It sounded like children.

Surprise!

Draco could hear a child screaming and an elf trying to calm it down.

“Master Reggie, please don’t cry, Master Harry is being back soon, very soon.”

Another child was shouting, “Kreacher, where’s Daddy? Reggie wants Daddy!”

“Master Harry is coming home soon, Master Teddy, but Kreacher is not knowing when,” another elf, Kreacher, he assumed, answered.

All the noise ceased as soon as Potter walked through the door.

Draco though his eyes might pop out of his head.

“Sorry about the welcome. Those two are really attached to me some days and they throw fits, but they can always tell as soon as I’m inside the wards. Merlin, I’ll be glad when they stop that.”

Draco struggled to find words and articulate them into a question.

“Ch-children?” he finally forced out through his frozen throat.

“Yep,” Potter replied, “two boys. Both three years old, but one’s five months older than the other. One’s actually your cousin, of a sort. Your aunt Andromeda Black Tonks’s grandson.” Potter’s expression looked open and cheerful, but his eyes were very guarded. Draco just nodded, figuring he’d have time to wrap his head around it later. “C’mon, you can meet the boys and I’ll get you set up with a room, then I’ll explain some of those things I told you about on Tuesday.”

And Draco had no choice but to nod dumbly and follow Potter into the hall.

Potter was waiting for Draco in the living room after Draco unpacked, being smothered with hugs and chatter from two overjoyed little boys. One of them was tugging on Potter’s arm and talking very fast about his hair while it changed color and length very quickly.

 _Ah, that must be the cousin,_ Draco thought. He’d heard his Metamorphmagus cousin Nymphadora had had a child with the werewolf Lupin before she died.

The other boy was curled into Potter’s side, giggling at the young Metamorphmagus, with Potter’s arm wrapped protectively around him. He had the same messy hair as Potter, just as dark, but his was rather curly instead of straight, and bright green eyes like Potter’s. When Draco came closer, though, he could see that they weren’t exact copies. The green of the boy’s eyes was brighter, almost glowing, the same color as the Killing Curse, and there was a ring of bright blue around the edge. The boy looked like Potter’s child, but he wasn’t the mirror image of his father they way Potter had been.

All three looked up as Draco approached to couch. Potter grinned.

“Boys, this is Draco Malfoy. He’s going to be staying with us for a while. Draco’s actually your cousin, Teddy. Malfoy, these are the boys, Theodore Remus Lupin Potter,” Potter gestured to the boy who now had waist-length blue hair, “better known as Teddy, and Regulus Harridan Gaunt Potter,” he patted the boy still tucked tightly to his side, “better known as Reggie. Sit, Kreacher’s fetching tea, and I’m sure you have questions,” he gestured to a chair.

The blue-haired boy, Teddy, jumped up and dragged Draco by the hand to the nearest chair. Just as energetic and welcoming as he’d heard the boy’s mother had been, Teddy seemed to have accepted Draco as family already. The other, Reggie, was still giving him a cool, calculating look that unnerved Draco. It looked far too old and hardened for his child’s face. After a moment’s study, Reggie turned to Potter.

“Is he here ‘cause the War?”

* * *

 

Harry looked into his son’s bright, intelligent eyes. He could see Reggie was thinking hard about Malfoy, so the question did not shock him like it did the blonde. He gave a small, sad smile.

“Yes, he is.”

And Reggie understood not to ask those questions. He was a very perceptive boy. He could tell Malfoy was burning with questions he didn’t know if he could ask, so Harry took pity on him.

“Reggie, why don’t take Teddy and see if the familiars want to join us for tea?” The boys smiled and jumped up to run off upstairs. Harry turned to Malfoy.

“Don’t ask anything yet, just listen. I’m going to explain some about the boys. Not all right now or maybe ever, but some. You live here now, I can’t keep the same secrets from you as I do from Ron and Hermione.” He took a deep breath and launched into the story.

“By blood, both those boys are my sons and when I die, they’ll both receive titles. I was named Teddy’s godfather when he was born during the War. When Remus and Dora died, Andromeda took him in, but about a year ago she got sick. She knew she wouldn't recover, so she passed his guardianship to me and told me to blood adopt him as a Potter. He can’t claim any titles I received from the Potter line, but he’ll get the Black Lordship. He has Black blood, and the title was willed to me by the last true Heir of the House of Black, so it’s mine to do as I please with.” Harry knew Malfoy, as an Heir to a Noble House himself, would want to know about the titles, since Harry had claimed so many. The rules of the nobility were complex, and every noble scion worked to make sure none of the titles died out. Harry was doing his part by splitting his titles amongst his sons and any other children he might have.

“And Reggie?” Malfoy asked, seeing Harry get a little distracted. “He’s definitely a Potter by birth, he looks too much like you to be a blood adoption. Who’s his mother?” Harry shot Malfoy a sharp look, causing him to flush a little. “I’m sorry, it’s none of my business.”

“Reggie is… an unusual case. He has no mother. He was born of ritual, so he has no carrier either. He has three fathers, as well. Myself, obviously, and Regulus Black, for another. If I have no more sons, he’ll get the titles from the Potter line. He could be eligible for the Black title, I guess, but Regulus was a younger son and Andromeda was the eldest daughter. Plus, Reggie will hold the Gaunt titles directly while Teddy won’t directly inherit any.” Draco looked confused, to put it mildly.

“I thought all the Gaunts died out fifty years ago. Where did he get those titles?”

“Tom,” Harry answered simply. The finality of his tone must have convinced Malfoy that it was one of those things he couldn’t ask questions about, because he simply nodded and looked away.

Luckily for them, the two boys came rushing back into the room at that moment with their familiars.

“Ah, good boys!” Harry exclaimed, glad to avoid the awkward moment. He was sure there would be plenty more to come in the next two years. “Why don’t you introduce Draco to your pets?” Teddy grinned, gesturing a golden wolf cub over to where Malfoy sat.

“This is Romulus, he’s my f’miliar,” the boy began as the wolf sniffed at Malfoy’s hand. He must have determined the blonde to be trustworthy, since a moment later he licked it. “I named him after one of the brothers in the myth, Romulus ‘n Remus. Remus was Father’s name.” He looked sad for a moment, then brightened. “He talks to me. I can hear him in my head. Daddy says it’s ‘cause I’m part wolf ‘cause of Father and we’re… what was it, Daddy?”

“Kin, Wolfling,” Harry laughed, “and I think it must be, I’ve never heard of it happening before, but children of werewolves are so rare.”

* * *

 

Draco was astonished. He thought his head might explode from all the new information. How much Potter knew about being a noble, his children ( _Potter has kids!_ ), the mysterious things he wouldn’t talk about.

This was not the same Potter he knew at school. Hell, this was not the same Potter who pulled him up onto a broomstick, saving him from the death Draco had sentenced himself to. This Potter laughed and smiled with real joy. This Potter had no weight of a world only he could save on his shoulders. This was a young man, full of life and vitality, whose only challenge was being a single parent to two young children at the age of nineteen.

And Merlin, was it a beautiful sight.

Draco was glad the wolf, Romulus, seemed to approve of him. Even if it was a cub, it still had sharp teeth and a dangerous glint to its eye. When Teddy finished chattering, Reggie, the mysterious one stepped forward, followed by two snakes. The silver one wrapped around his neck and shoulder and turned pure white eyes on Draco.

“This is Tronus,” Reggie said shyly. “I named that after Daddy’s ‘Tronus Charm. He protects me like Daddy, and he talks to me, too. He tells me stories when Daddy’s gone, like Daddy does at bedtime.” He stroked one of the snake’s coils and hissed something in Parseltongue. “Tronus says he trusts you now, but if you do something bad, he’ll bite you. He’s poison.”

Draco shivered. Parseltongue was a fascinating language, but when the boy spoke, his eyes darkened and his pupils turned to slits like a snake’s. He turned away instead.

“Potter, I thought your Patronus was a stag. That’s what came bursting out at me in third year and nearly killed me.” Potter flushed a little and laughed, obviously remembering Draco’s failed Dementor prank.

“It’s changed since… since the Battle.” Ah, one of those forbidden subjects then. Now Draco was curious, but he was too polite to ask. Luckily, Teddy had no such scruples.

“Show him your ‘Tronus Charm, Daddy! Let Draco see!” Potter flushed even more, but couldn’t refuse when Reggie’s quiet voice joined in.

“Oh, alright.” The boys cheered and backed away, clearing a space. Potter must do this regularly, then. “ _Expecto Patronum!_ ”

_Well, this is interesting._

* * *

 

Harry’s dragon Patronus was huge and nearly solid, like it always was when he used the memory of his first look into Reggie’s eyes. It was the only good memory he had of that month. Reggie was the only good thing he got from his… experience.

Malfoy studied the Patronus as it circled around him, teeth bared, studying him back. Eventually it stopped directly in front of him, paused a moment, then lowered its snout to his brow before fading away. It was a moment longer before Malfoy turned to him with a questioning eyebrow raised.

“Do you know how much power you need to have a Patronus be a magical creature? The only thing more rare is someone whose Animagus form is a magical creature.” Potter looked down, embarrassed.

“That is my Animagus form,” he mumbled, pulling at his fingers.

Draco was floored. He sat back down and allowed himself a moment to take in just how much magical power Potter had. _He must be the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself!_ Draco had never seen a hint of it in six years of school together, either. He thought a second longer, then smirked.

“A dragon, Potter? Is there something I should know?”

Potter blushed but met his eyes with a direct stare.

“It’s not what you’re thinking. Dragons form very close family units, and mates bond for life. That was a Hungarian Horntail, same as I faced in the First Task of the Triwizard Tournament. They have the strongest bond between parent and child and are known for being the most protective of their offspring.” Clearly Potter was not about to be teased.

Another hissing noise distracted them. Potter crouched down and extended his arm toward the second snake as it slithered out from under the couch. This one was also a silvery color, but had a stripe of black down the center of its back. Its eyes were black as well, deep pools of shadow that turned to Draco as the tongue flicked out, tasting his scent on the air.

“Malfoy, this is my familiar, Severus.”

“Why Severus?” Why would Potter name his familiar after a man he hated?

“The eyes,” he answered simply. That was true. Only Severus had eyes that dark and empty, with such a cold stare. “He’s also not afraid to tell me off if I need it. He’s the first one I found since the Battle who would. Snape wouldn’t stand for idiocy in his class, and I needed someone to not let me be an idiot now.” He gave a tiny smile, just one corner of his mouth. “He even called me a dunderhead when we met. How could I name him anything else?”

Draco was glad someone else remembered his godfather and mentor as more than a spy or Dumbledore’s killer. Severus Snape was more than his roles. He was a man. Somehow, that idea had gotten lost in the War.

All in all, Draco decided this new Potter wasn’t so bad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: About the timeline; in this story, the Battle of Hogwarts happened around the same time as canon, late May. Teddy was born in January of that year, Reggie shortly after the Battle. After Harry killed Voldemort, the Ministry spent two years rounding up Death Eaters and detaining them before putting them on trial. The trials took a year, with the Malfoy trial being the last. It is now three years after the Battle, mid-July.


	3. Chapter 3

After all the introductions, Potter had taken the boys outside to play in the garden. Draco had opted to explore the house when Potter asked if he wanted to come.

“Ok, have fun then. You’re free to look anywhere you want, except the fifth floor. The only thing up there is my room, and no one’s allowed in there, not even the boys.”

Draco thought that a little extreme, but figured Potter was strange like that. He probably had nightmares, just like everyone else in the War did. Draco had woken in tears many times himself. It was embarrassing, something he didn’t want his family to see.

Draco started out in his room. It looked to be the largest guest room, or an old unused room for a younger son. It was nicely furnished in Slytherin colors, with pale grey silk on the walls and deep green velvet hangings on the bed and windows. The two windows looked out over the gardens behind the house. There was also an attached bathroom with a shower and a claw-footed tub, a courtesy he hadn’t expected.

He wandered down the halls, poking his head into rooms as he went. His bedroom was on the fourth floor, along with Teddy’s and Reggie’s. Teddy’s room must once have belonged to Sirius Black, the only Gryffindor in the family, since it was done up in bright shades of red and gold. Toys cluttered the floor, and on the wall there was a picture of a tired but happily waving Lupin and a young woman with pink hair he assumed was his cousin Nymphadora.

Reggie’s must have had Regulus Black’s old room. The colors were the same as in Draco’s room, with grey silk and velvet hangings, but there was also a faded Slytherin banner on the wall, along with and old picture of a Quidditch team dressed in green and silver. The caption listed the slight, dark haired boy in the center with the Cup as Regulus Black, Seeker. A child’s broom was propped in the corner. Unlike Teddy’s room, Reggie’s was clean and tidy.

Draco continued to explore the house. The third floor had mostly guest bedrooms and appeared completely unused. The first floor, which he had seen earlier, had only the entry hall, a formal parlor, Floo room, and kitchen. The second floor, however, contained all the workspaces and more general use rooms. Along with the sitting room he had met the boys in, Draco found a potions lab, several offices including Potter’s, with papers on the desk and an empty perch for a bird that was away, a couple shielded ritual rooms and a dueling chamber. At the end of the hall was archway with a small staircase that led to the library, a circular room several stories tall with a spiral staircase in the center to reach the upper story. That was where Potter found Draco several hours later, browsing the books.

“I thought I might find you in one of the labs, already setting up an experimental potion or something,” he chuckled. He seemed to be alright with Draco thumbing through ancient tomes belonging to the Black Inheritance. Draco wondered why that was. Just what made this Potter so different from the hot-tempered boy with a hatred of pure-bloods he had known at school?

“I didn’t want to impose,” he answered off-handedly. “I would like to have use of one of the labs, if you would allow it.”

“Of course, Malfoy. I hardly brew anyways. I may be a decent brewer now, but I still hate it,” he rubbed the back of his head and gave Draco a lopsided smile that did funny things to Draco’s stomach. “Residual feelings from school, I guess.”

For the life of him, Draco could not figure Potter out. He acted like he was happy to have Draco in his home, like he was a long lost cousin or an old friend. Where had his mortal enemy gone?

“Why?”

* * *

 

Harry frowned.

“Why what?”

“Why are you acting this way? You’re my prison guard for the next two years, my jailer. Why be so… so nice? Merlin, Potter, you’re acting like we’re friends or something!”

 _Ah._ That’s right, Malfoy hadn’t seen him since the Battle, except for the day he gave his testimony. He didn’t know what had happened during the Battle and during the… and after the Battle. Malfoy didn’t know how much his values had changed in those two years, how much everything had changed, other than gaining two children and a slew of noble titles. He was still trying to reconcile this new Harry with the one from school: the brash, short tempered Gryffindor boy against the calm, protective, single parent.

“A lot has changed, Malfoy. I’ve changed. The way I was in school… that’s not the way I want to be. Being a Gryffindor, honest and courageous in every moment of life, that won’t help me in the real world. Not in my world, anyways.

“I don’t know if we’re friends. It’s really up to you, since it takes two people to maintain a friendship. But I don’t want to be enemies. I can’t treat you as an enemy if I trust you with my children. They mean everything to me, and I will do anything to protect them. At the very least, we’re family, of a sort.” Malfoy looked dubious at that statement. Harry huffed. “C’mon then, if you don’t believe me.”

Though locked a door at the top of the library stairs was the heritage of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Harry tapped it with his wand, murmuring the password: “ _Toujours Pur.”_

Inside, he led Malfoy to the Tapestry Room, which contained the Black Family Tapestry and the portraits of the last Lord and Lady Black, Orion and Walburga. Harry had made his peace with the Lady Walburga Black shortly after moving in to Grimmauld Place. It had been she, in fact, you taught him most of the old noble and wizarding genealogy he knew. Harry pointed to the name Cygnus Black III, and followed the line through Narcissa Black Malfoy and Lucius Abraxas Malfoy and down to Draco Lucius Malfoy.

“There. You’re a scion of the House of Black. By blood if not by name. As Lord of this house, I claim you as part of my family.”

Malfoy touched a finger gently to his mother and father’s names.

“But you don’t even have enough of the blood to be on here, Potter,” he said softly. Harry shook his head.

“Wrong. I’m on the Tapestry, even if I don’t have the blood.” He moved his finger back to Cygnus, then over to his brother Orion Pollux Black, the elder son, and traced a new line, one he knew by heart. This one went from Orion and Walburga to their younger son Regulus Arcturus Black. Harry stopped there, on the curious circular formation of the names of Reggie’s fathers. He was hesitant to point it out to Malfoy, but Harry hoped he didn’t know who the third name truly was.

“Thomas Marvolo Riddle, Jr. Is that…?”

_Damn._

* * *

 

Draco was horrified. Tom Riddle. Lord Voldemort. Reggie’s third father was the Dark Lord himself.

“How-“

“Don’t. Finish that question.” Potter’s voice was as cold and sharp as a steel sword. “I’ve told you all I’m willing to about the circumstances of Reggie’s birth. He knows he can’t tell anyone about even having three sires, much less who the third is. It’s unheard of and frankly should be impossible. It would have been, if Tom and I didn’t have such magically powerful-“ He abruptly shut his mouth and shook his head. “Just… don’t ask, alright?”

“Ok.” Draco was burning with curiosity, but he knew prying would get him nothing but a very angry host.

Potter turned back to the Tapestry, tracing the circle of names softly, lost in memories for a moment.

“Kreacher,” he called.

“Yes, Master.”

“Show Mr. Malfoy to the kitchen. We’ll be eating in there tonight. I’ll be down shortly, I wish to speak with the Lady Walburga first.” He turned and bowed slightly to a portrait of an older woman with a haughty demeanor and some vestiges of youthful beauty, who smiled kindly at him.

“Very well, Master. If Mr. Malfoy would follow Kreacher please,” the old elf bowed to Potter before leading the way out of the room.

* * *

 

Talking with Walburga always cheered Harry these days, a drastic change from when the Order had lived in Grimmauld Place. After the death of both sons, she had become despondent. When Harry brought Reggie home and introduced him as her rightful grandson, she had been overjoyed. It had only helped that Harry needed someone to tutor him in noble history and etiquette.

Harry was glad she had come around. Reggie needed to know his family, and Orion and Walburga were the only relatives he could speak to, besides Harry. His other fathers were long dead. One grandfather was a Muggle, one grandmother a Squib who had never sat for a portrait. All the portraits of Harry’s family had been lost in the destruction of Potter Manor during the first War, while his parents had been in hiding.

Reggie, Teddy, Harry. None of them knew much about their families. They would make a new family together.

Malfoy was quiet all through dinner, clearly thinking about all he had learned that afternoon. When the boys finished and ran off to the gardens again, Harry stayed with him in the kitchen and had Kreacher put on a pot of coffee for them. Even without Legillimency, Harry could see the questions tumbling through his mind. After a long moment of staring into his coffee, Malfoy found his voice.

“You said you needed me to help out if I stay here. I assume you meant with the boys?” Harry nodded.

“Yeah, if you had proved trustworthy. If my dragon accepts you, you must be alright,” he grinned at Malfoy. “I’m gone all day most days for the next few months. I leave them with the elves, but you saw how well that goes over sometimes,” another grin. “I can’t count the number of times Kreacher or Winky has had to call me home in the middle of the day because of one of their fits. They like you, so I’m hoping they’ll accept you as family enough while I’m gone. If that’s alright with you?”

“That’s fine. I can’t let you treat me like family without doing something for you, too. I can’t promise how good I am with children, though. I’ve never had to take care of any.”

“You’ll be fine. You can help Reggie with his flying. He wants to be a Seeker, just like Regulus and I were. You could take them both up to the library and read to them, or teach them about Potions. They both love to learn, but I’m not the best for Potions work. Or tell Reggie stories about being a Slytherin. He’s guaranteed to be Sorted there. Teddy’s likely to be a Gryffindor, and he loves my stories, but I can’t do the same for Reggie.” Harry looked down, slightly ashamed at his lacking as a parent. “There’s a lot I can’t do for them. I was raised by Muggles, so I have no idea how to raise a child in the nobility and teach them our ways.” He snorted. “Hell, I was taught by a dead woman’s portrait! Lady Walburga’s a fantastic help, especially with Black Family history, but she’s a little… out of date, shall we say.”

“Of course.” Malfoy touched his arm gently. “I’ll do what I can. I’m just so grateful to you for agreeing to this… arrangement. I don’t think I could have made it back out of Azkaban, not really.” He was quiet for a moment, then: “So what do you do during the day? Do you have a job? I always figured you as one to have some work or ‘real occupation,’ never content to just be a Lord.”

“I spend all day at the Ministry. I’m working with a few key members of the Wizengamot on some major reforms, especially on the care of magical children without parents. The War left a lot of orphans, and they shouldn’t be raised by Muggles. I was, and so was Tom. It didn’t do any good for either of us.” Harry laughed. “I used to not think much of pure-bloods who didn’t work, but that was before I became the single most important member of the Wizengamot. It’s like working two jobs, and add the boys to that?” he shook his head. “Just no time and no need for one more.”

“The most important…? Merlin, Potter, just how many titles do you hold?”

Harry sighed. He hated that question. Wasn’t it enough to be the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, and the Savior of the Wizarding World? Adding more made him seem arrogant and self-important. He didn’t want to answer Malfoy out loud, it made him feel like a braggart, so he waved his wand and conjured one of his business cards, handing it over for Malfoy to read.

**_Lord Harridan James Potter, Earl of Gryffindor_ **

**_House of Potter_   
****_House of Black_   
****_House of Peverell_   
****_Regent, House of Gaunt_   
******_Earl Regent of Slytherin_

“You’re an Earl?! I didn’t know we still had those in the wizarding world!” Malfoy’s eyebrows had gone up so far they disappeared into his pale fringe. “What’s it mean, ‘Regent’?”

“Those titles don’t belong to me by blood. They belong to Reggie. Rather than have the estates held in stasis, I hold them in his stead until he turns seventeen. That way, I can make business decisions. The title may be grand, but the last ones to claim the Slytherin title was the House of Gaunt and they wasted every Knut of the Gaunt and Slytherin fortunes and I’ve no idea if there are any properties left.” Harry rubbed his forehead, right across the famous, faded scar. “The boy’ll be a bloody Earl while he’s still in school, the least I can do is make sure he has something to live off of.”

“The least you can do? Potter, you’ve changed your life for these boys. It sounds like you’re doing everything you can and then some.” Malfoy gave him searching look. “Go to bed, Potter. You look exhausted.” Harry snorted.

“Gee, thanks, you’re so kind.” He got up and stretched out his back. “But I think I will turn in. Kreacher will wake you for breakfast in the morning, so I’ll see you then before I go to the Ministry.” Harry moved to leave, but turned back at the doorway. “You know, Malfoy, having you around may turn out better than any of us expected.” He shrugged. “Goodnight, Malfoy.”

As Harry walked down the hall, he heard a quiet return of, “Goodnight, Potter.”


	4. Chapter 4

Draco woke to shouting.

_Ah, that sounds more like a house with Potter in it._

Too curious about the noise and discontent in the previously calm Grimmauld Place to bother with getting dressed, Draco padded down the hall, barefoot and pyjama-clad, following the noise to the Floo Room he had seen the day before. The door was shut and Kreacher was stationed outside, rather oddly like a guard.

“What’s going on?”

The elf bowed as the shouting paused momentarily.

“Good morning, Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Ron Weasley and Mrs. Granger-Weasley are here. They are angry at Master for housing Mr. Malfoy.”

That explained the shouting. Weasley had never liked Draco, and apparently Potter’s decision to be custodian was not approved by the redhead. Never mind that Potter outrank even Draco, much less the youngest son of the House of Weasley, and that Potter was a parent now and perfectly capable of making his own decisions like a big boy.

“May I go in?” he asked the elf, unsure if Potter would lock him out. The elf just bowed and gestured for Draco to follow him into the room.

“Master, Mr. Malfoy is here, sir.” The elf bowed again before he shut the door with a snap.

Potter had his back to the door, facing the two Weasleys. His face was a calm, cool mask, much like Lucius had worn on many occasions when showing his anger would hinder rather than help. His hands were tucked casually in the pockets of his fine robes, but his spine was rigid with defiance. Without his schoolboy glasses, Potter’s cold stare cut to the bone. Draco wondered how Weasley was still standing. Maybe he was used to it.

Weasley was just in front of the hearth, face red with shouting and fists clenched by his sides. Granger stood off to the side of him, looking accusatory but a little weary at the same time. Both of them were also dressed in formal work robes, but not nearly as nice as Potter’s. _But they’re not members of the Wizengamot._

“You!” Draco’s entrance served as a new place for Weasley to point his anger. “What are you doing here?!”

“I live here now,” Draco sneered, “courtesy of Potter, as you might have heard. Took this option over a cell in Azkaban with my father.” Potter shot Draco an annoyed look, letting him know his manner was doing nothing to diffuse the redhead. _Too bad, Potter. A Malfoy woken with shouting is not a Malfoy inclined to be polite to people lower than him._ And the youngest Weasley son was a lot lower than Draco, even as a criminal.

“I’d have chucked you in prison before I let anywhere near my house, Ferret,” Weasley shot back. “How could you take him in, Harry? He’ll probably attack you in your sleep!”

“Merlin’s sake, Ron, he doesn’t have a wand! The Wizengamot gave him all kinds of rules in his sentencing. He can’t even give orders to a house-elf!” Potter stopped, pulling his emotions back under the calm mask. “It’s good for us both to let him stay here. He stays out of Azkaban, and while I’m at the Ministry he can watch-“

“You can’t seriously trust him with Teddy!” Granger burst out.

“Yes, I can. I need someone to-“

“But he’s a Death Eater! He’s Marked, and you trust him with your CHILD?” Merlin, Granger was going to keep harping on this thing, wasn’t she? He wondered why they talked like Potter had only one son. What about Reggie?

“My dragon trusts him. If he betrays that trust, he’ll beg for death long before I give it to him.” Draco shivered at Potter’s cold tone. What did that mean?

“Oh, your dragon, huh?” Weasley scoffed. “The fact that your Patronus didn’t try to bite his head off like he deserves means nothing! He’s slimy Death Eater scum! He’s got the Dark Mark!”

Draco could almost hear Potter’s mask, and his control over his magic, shatter. The flames in the hearth roared up, but the room turned cold enough for them to see their breath. The amount of power running through him caused his eyes to glow brightly, while the magic running through the room forced Draco to his knees and the other two to back up and hold the wall for support.

“My dragon knows more about trust and family than you ever will, Ron,” Potter said in a low, growling voice that made the hair on Draco’s neck stand up, “and the Mark is nothing more than a scar now. I’ve got more than enough scars of my own now. You’ve overstayed your welcome this morning. Get out, and owl before you visit next time.”

Weasley opened his mouth to say something just as he and Granger disappeared with a pop. Potter dropped to his hands and knees, visibly straining with the effort to pull his wayward magic back to him. After long seconds of silence the flames died, the glow in his eyes dimmed, and the room returned to its normal temperature. He turned towards Draco, but didn’t meet his eyes.

“I’m sorry.”

Draco just stared.

Uncomfortable, Potter muttered something about the Ministry and disappeared through the Floo.

* * *

 

Harry couldn’t believe he’d let his control slip again like that. He’d almost had a repeat of the last time. No wonder Malfoy had looked terrified. If he hadn’t made the wards throw Ron and Hermione out, he could have destroyed the center of his home and killed everyone living there. He knew what happened when he let his magic go free…

He hadn’t let himself think about what happened all day. The Wizengamot was a political arena, and he needed all his focus to play the game. He was in the middle of a subtle bargaining for support with Lord McFare on his move to reform some of the Heir Laws. Harry had eaten lunch with the older Scotsman, casually remarking on how giving all the titles to the Heir seemed to show favoritism to the eldest son. McFare, Harry knew, held two titles, but had only become Heir after his two older brothers died in an outbreak of Dragon Pox before they married and had sons of their own. Both titles would have gone to his oldest brother otherwise. He hoped this ploy would work to bring the man over to his side before the full Court in Midwinter.

Now, though, he was tired after the long day of game-playing, his bones ached from the effort of recalling his power that morning, and he just wanted to go home to his sons.

The only thing stopping him from running for the nearest Floo was the thought of answering more questions from Malfoy.

_Get over it, Potter. Everything you’ve been through, and you can’t face one nosey houseguest? Please._

Harry gritting his teeth, but packed up his work and Apparated home.

Only to find Malfoy waiting for him in the entrance hall. He ground his teeth together and clamped down on his temper.

“I need tea. Whatever you’re about to say or do can wait until I’m in the kitchen with a cuppa in my hands.” Malfoy crossed his arms, but he nodded as Harry stalked past him into the house.

He managed to wait until Harry had had his first swallow of tea before he spoke.

“You’re sorry?! You show off all that power, the wards on your house FORCIBLY Apparate Granger and Weasley out, and the only thing you can think of is that you’re SORRY?”

“What else should I say? I started to lose control! What should I say, ‘Look Malfoy, I’m a bomb! Isn’t it just grand?’” Sarcasm dripped from his last words.

“I’m sorry I got caught up in it all, but the LEAST you could have done is stayed and explain it to me! I have to live here too now, some warning would be nice before you blow us all sky high!”

Harry’s grip on his anger slipped, and the tea cup he was still holding shattered in his hand, followed an instant later by all the dishes in the cupboards. Acting on instinct, Harry pulled Malfoy toward him and threw up a shield to deflect the bits of porcelain flying towards them. When the air cleared, he pushed him away and dropped to the floor, head cradled between his arms, desperately pulling back his magic and his temper.

Kreacher appeared and began repairing the cabinets. Not wanting to look a Malfoy again, Harry turned and watching the elf work.

“Can you fix the dishes, Kreacher?” he gritted out. The elf shook his head.

“No, Master. The dishes are too broken. Master must buy new ones.”

 _Damn it._ He hadn’t shattered all the dishes at once since that first year after the War, and he wasn’t looking forward to buying new ones again. Malfoy took a deep breath behind him.

“I’m sorry, Potter. I shouldn’t have confronted you like that.”

Harry didn’t acknowledge him, still waging an internal war. Twice in one day he had let his power out, and this second time it refused to return to him. Too much had built up for him to control it, he needed to drain it off somehow instead.

 _> >Severus,<<_ he called out to his familiar in Parseltongue, _> >I need the bite.<<_

 _> >Yes, Brother,<<_ the snake responded as he slithered into the room and toward Harry’s still-crouched form. Harry extended his right arm and, while Malfoy watched, allowed the snake to sink his fangs deep into his wrist. The venom began to burn immediately, and the world turned blissfully blank.

* * *

 

Draco looked on in shock as Potter let his snake bite his wrist and pump his body full of poison.

“What the hell?!” he cried, rushing over to Potter as he collapsed. The elf stopped him before he could touch the man.

“Mr. Malfoy must not touch Master. Mr. Malfoy can still be hurt by Master’s magic.”

“Does he have a death wish?! Why did he do that?!”

“Master’s magic is too strong for him. Master lets his snake bite him sometimes. Master’s magic burns the poison out and he can control it again.”

That… actually made sense. Potter couldn’t pull his power back again, like he had that morning, but it was too dangerous to let go. Having his snake bite him would force his magic to protect him by burning the venom out, but it would also drain his magical core. His power would be weak for a few days, and he could get it under control again then.

Draco followed the elf as he levitated Potter up the stairs. Half way up the staircase to the fifth floor, the elf stopped him.

“Mr. Malfoy must stop here. Mr. Malfoy is not permitted on the fifth floor. Kreacher must raise the wards to hold in Master’s magic.”

Draco sensed the shift in power that was the wards going up. Tentatively, he reached out a hand. It stopped at a smooth, invisible surface rising up from the stair in front of him. He ran both hands over the cool, solid air, feeling the thrum of power through them.

These were war wards, not just family or blood wards. These would protect from almost any attack, and they were the strongest war wards he had even seen.

_Just what the hell is going on with Potter?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: It's a short chapter, but there's a lot of stuff going on! For the scene with the game, it's really no one's point of view, just dialogue. I've used different marks to tell Harry and Draco apart;  
> "Draco speaking"  
> 'Harry speaking'

Harry drifted back out of the blackness slowly. Everything ached: his head, his muscles, his very bones. But the ache was worth it, when he felt how his magic had been drained to heal him from Severus’s venom. He knew it was extreme, forcing his magic to save him again and again, but he swore he would never let his power loose again. Not after the death and destruction of last time.

He sat up in bed and spotting Kreacher, sitting on his usual chair next to the cupboard door.

“Kreacher,” he croaked out through a very dry throat, “what time is it?”

“Almost midnight, Master.” Harry nodded as he got up and stretched. He’d been out about six hours, then. He was sure Winky had fed everyone and put the boys to bed. Awful as it was, it was almost a routine for the residents of Number 12. Winky knew she had to deal with the boys on her own each time, since Kreacher was needed to raise the wards on Harry’s room. They could only be raised from the inside, and not even a house-elf could pass through them.

Harry changed into pyjamas and lowered the wards, intent on getting to the kitchen and eating as much as he could handle.

Or he would have been, if Draco Malfoy hadn’t been seated in the middle of the stairs, waiting for him.

“This better not take long, Malfoy, I’m hungry enough to start eating you if I have to,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. His posture screamed annoyance.

“How often do you have to do that?”

“About every month or so, now.” Harry extended his right arm and showed Malfoy the newest puncture scars on his wrist. “More if it’s a very high stress time at work. Right after the War, when the papers were going after me and I hadn’t gotten any real control over my temper yet, it was about once a week.” He pushed his sleeve up a little to show the myriad of silvery circles on the underside of his forearm. “It’s the only thing so far that works.”

Malfoy had a loose grip on his wrist and an expression of shock on his face. He touched the newest scars lightly, as if afraid of hurting Harry. It didn’t, but he fought back a shiver at the odd feeling.

* * *

 

Draco couldn’t speak. He couldn’t even think to count the number of puncture scars on Potter’s arm. He pushed the sleeve up to the elbow and ran his fingertip across the scars in its crook. There weren’t nearly enough marks there to match up with the dozens of times Potter said he had been bitten. Draco grabbed Potter’s left wrist as well, see if there were more marks there, only to have it ripped away from him.

“Don’t.” Potter’s voice was flat and cold as ice, but his expression was pained. “I won’t ask to see your left arm, and you won’t ask to see mine.” He pulled his other arm free of Draco’s grasp and walked past him. Draco stayed put, lost in thought.

Of course Potter didn’t ask to see his left arm. He knew that’s where Draco’s Mark was. He could hardly not know, since it was the whole reason Draco was living in his house to begin with. But why was Potter’s left arm such a sore point for him? It couldn’t be because… Draco’s whole being shied away from the idea that Potter had ever taken the Mark. He was the Savior, the Boy-Who-Lived. His mission in life had been to kill that bastard, not bow to him. Lucius had said once, on a night near the end of the War when he had been rather drunk, that Potter had refused to bow to the Dark Lord in the graveyard during the Third Task. He even threw off an Impirius Curse, just because he didn’t want to play the bastard’s mockery games before a duel.

So what was on his arm?

Draco sighed. Another question he couldn’t ask Potter. He was tired of all these damn questions. Why couldn’t Potter just be straight-forward for once?

Then he had an idea. A game meant for getting to know someone, a way to ask questions: Twenty Questions. It was a Muggle game, but Potter was raised by Muggle, so surely that would be comforting, right? The only downside was that Draco would have to answer twenty questions from Potter, but if it got him more information he would deal with it. He went down to the kitchen to propose the idea to Potter.

“Fine, but only ten questions, five each and we take turns. You ask a question, I’ll answer it as truthfully as I can or I pass, then I ask and you do the same.” Draco could agree with that. While Kreacher was making tea, he thought about his first question.

* * *

 

“Where did all that power come from? You didn’t have much more magic than the rest of us in school.”

‘I got most of it when I went through my maturation after the Battle. It should have happened when I turned seventeen, but the stress of the War and spending a year starving and on the run delayed it, along with… other factors. Why did you ask me to take you in?’

“No one else in the Order would have. I didn’t think anyone would, but then I remembered that you testified at the trial and thought you might be my only chance to escape Azkaban. You’re a Parselmouth. I haven’t heard of anyone outside the House of Slytherin who could. Where did it come from for you?”

‘The Peverells. It’s an ancient gift, and a Dark one, but it’s been kind of diluted through the Potter line. Too much Light, I guess. I’m the first Potter who can speak Parseltongue in centuries. Most of the Gaunts were speakers, but their family was Dark. The fact that Slytherin was a speaker is really surprising, in fact. For all his value on blood purity, he was actually a pretty Light wizard, or at least on the Light end of Grey. Do you regret taking the Dark Mark?’

“Every day. Even before I did it. That bastard was insane. He didn’t have any humanity left. I couldn’t show it, though. He would have killed me. I may believe in blood purity, but even then I didn’t like how he did things. If you’re the first in centuries, does that mean you’re a Dark wizard?”

‘Not Dark, just Grey. I believe in the balance of magic. There’s a lot of power in both sides, so I practice them equally. I was never Light, not even before I knew about magic. Not after the night Voldemort tried to kill me. What happened that night meant I never had any chance of being Light. I just can’t really spread it around. The papers would have a field day, saying the Savior of the Light had gone Dark. For the public there isn’t any sort of balance or middle ground, just good and evil. So you never wanted to be a little Lucius Junior, like how you acted in school?’

“My father… had a lot of influence on my ideas, especially when I was younger, but… He was a bit extreme. He contradicted himself a lot too. He would teach me all these important ‘Malfoy ideals,’ but then he wouldn’t follow them. ‘Malfoys have the purest blood and only marry pure-bloods,’ except my grandfather Abraxas married a half-Veela, so father and I are both part-Veela. ‘Malfoys are superior and bow to no one,’ but he goes and gets himself bound to a madman and bows and scrapes every time his Master is near. ‘Malfoys are powerful wizards,’ but he can’t even cast a Patronus, something you mastered in as a third year! What happened to keep you from being Light? Plenty of Light wizards have wanted revenge.”

‘Do you know what a Horcrux is?’

“No. And you just used up your next question.”

‘That’s fine, I’m sure you’re more curious about me than I am about you.’

“Probably true. Now answer the question.”

‘A Horcrux is some of the darkest magic. It’s Black magic, actually, because it requires death. It is an object that holds a piece of a wizard’s soul. As long as the Horcrux is safe, the wizard cannot be killed. An object with a sentient soul piece inside is dangerous and Dark on its own, but to split the soul requires murder, which makes it Black magic. Somehow, when Voldemort was a student, he learned about Horcruxes. They appealed to him, so he… went a bit overboard. Most wizards with Horcruxes have only one or maybe two; he tried to split his soul into seven pieces. He made his first while still in school. The last was supposed to be made when he killed me. The worst murder, killing an innocent child. When the Killing Curse reflected back to him, it split his soul. He didn’t notice, he didn’t mean to, but his soul was so shattered already that it happened easily. He fled, but the soul piece stayed and attached itself to the only object it could: me.

‘My magic accepted the piece as my own, for the most part. It was so dark that it tainted my core, and that’s why I can’t be Light. It let me be a Parselmouth. I also used a lot of power unconsciously protecting it, which is why I didn’t seem all that powerful in school. With it gone, a lot of my magic has been… freed up for me to use. It had a lot of Dark magical power in it, which I still have. It may have also been responsible for the famous temper I had, though I’ve heard my mother was the same way. Do you think you can stay here, knowing I’ve got secrets, and put all the rivalry we had in the past behind us? It was school boy stuff, and it would only make us both miserable now.’

“Yes, I think I can do that. That was your last question, you know, since you asked me if I knew what Horcruxes were earlier. When Granger and Weasley were here, they were yelling about Teddy, but not Reggie. Why just Reggie?”

‘They don’t know about Reggie. No one else living does, except you, since I could hardly keep my son a secret in my own home for two years.’

* * *

 

Early in the morning, as the sun was rising, Draco lay in bed, lost in thought.


	6. Chapter 6

After their game of questions and answers, Harry was afraid he might have revealed too much of himself. Since he had returned to Grimmauld Place with Reggie, secrets and lies had been the only way he had lived. He hadn’t told anyone anything about Reggie, and he had just told nearly all of it to Draco Malfoy, of all people! When he had adopted Teddy into his family, he had to be even more careful. Teddy was young, he might accidentally tell someone about his brother. No one was allowed to babysit when he was away except for the elves. When Ron and Hermione came over, Kreacher took Reggie and hid him away in his room. They never stayed more than a couple hours. No one knew about Reggie.

No, scratch that. One other person knew about Reggie: Charlie Weasley, the dragonologist and Reggie’s godfather. Harry’s dragon Animagus form had found a sense of brotherhood in the stocky redhead that made him trust Charlie with his biggest secret.

But even Charlie didn’t know anything about Reggie’s origins. Just that the boy had three fathers and that Harry refused to let him be judged for the actions of his fathers.

Letting his secret go, telling Malfoy, felt like Harry was going into battle naked. To be a Muggle for a moment, it was like bringing a knife to a gunfight.

 Harry resolved to keep away from Malfoy as much as he could. His secrets and lies made up his armor. Malfoy was living with him under house arrest, after all, he wasn’t his bloody therapist.

To that end, the only time he spent with Malfoy included the boys: dinner, playing in the gardens, sitting by the fire in the family room with their familiars. When the boys went to bed, Harry went up to tell them each a story and say goodnight, then went straight to his office and worked until he went to bed himself. He didn’t give Malfoy any chances to ask any more questions, though the look in his grey eyes was both curious and frustrated.

It worked, too, for almost two weeks. Right up until the night Reggie wanted Malfoy to say goodnight to him as well.

“Daddy, can Draco come up and hear the story too?”

How could he deny his son something so simple?

“Alright, snakeling, Draco can come too.” He turned to the blonde, who looked surprised. Maybe he hadn’t thought the boys might actually like him after all. “If you want to, that is, Malfoy. It’s up to you.”

“I’ve no problem with hearing your bedtime story if your son wants me to, Potter.”

And that was settled.

When Reggie was all tucked in, Harry sat down beside him on the bed, while Malfoy, after a moment’s hesitation, sat in a chair on the other side by the windows.

“Well, Reggie, what story do you want to hear tonight?” Most of the time, neither of the boys cared what story it was, but Reggie sometimes put in requests.

“Tell me about the Peverell brothers, Daddy! And Draco, he hasn’t heard it ever!” Harry laughed. Perhaps Malfoy needed an education in their heritage.

“Alright, snakeling. I’ll just have to tell it carefully, so Draco can remember it all. After all, it’s a big, important story for us Potters.”

Reggie giggled at Harry’s serious tone. Malfoy just snorted. Harry took a deep breath and started his story.

“This is the true story of the Deathly Hallows. This, Regulus, is the greatest story of the Ancient House of Peverell and its oldest Heirlooms…”

* * *

 

Draco never though he would actually be fascinated by a story told by Potter, much less a bedtime story, but he was.

Potter’s story was about three brothers of the ancient Peverell family, clearly the basis for Beedle the Bard’s story _The Tale of Three Brothers_. But Potter’s story seemed… more truthful. No meeting Death at midnight, no cursed wand, just powerful wizards and a stupid mistake. He wondered if Beedle had been in the tavern the night the Peverell brothers arrived.

So entranced was Draco that he was almost sad to come to the end of the story. Potter had a nice voice, deep and soothing.

Outside Reggie’s closed door, Draco managed to stop Potter before he ran for his office again.

“You tell a good story.”

Potter flushed, embarrassed.  

“Thanks.”

“Was all that really true? The Deathly Hallows being Peverell Heirlooms and all?” Potter fixed him with a hard look.

“Of course. I got that story from Ignotus’s journal in the Peverell vault. I still have the Hallows, too. I brought them together in the Battle of Hogwarts, and I will keep them together when I give them to Reggie.” He raised an eyebrow, daring Draco to question him. “Is that all? I have a proposal for the Wizengamot to draft.” His cool nobleman’s mask was back in place.

“I… yes.”

“Goodnight, Malfoy.”

“Draco,” Draco called out on impulse as Potter turned on his heel. The dark-haired man paused before turning back.

“What?”

“Just call me Draco. Teddy and Reggie already do, and so do you when you talk to them. Just call me Draco all the time.”

The tinies hint of a smile broke through Potter’s mask.

“Alright. Goodnight, Draco.”

“Goodnight, Harry,” the blonde called to his retreating back.

* * *

 

Harry woke to sunshine and almost cried at the unfairness of it all. This day was not supposed to be sunny. It was July 29th. Where was the bloody dismal English weather when you wanted it?

Today, he would not go to work. Today, he would stay home. Today, he would hold Regulus in his arms and remember what a miracle it was to have him at all. Today, he would smile, and he would put off his pain for tonight, after the sun went down. Today, he would look to the future.

But tonight, he would drink to the memory of the past.

* * *

 

Draco wondered if Potter, Harry, was dying. That could be the only reason he would refuse to go into the Ministry. It was only July 29th, so his birthday wasn’t for two more days. But no, he seemed perfectly healthy, though there was something off about him. His smiles, while numerous, were too forced. His laughter, while loud, was shaky. When he though no one was looking, his eyes were sad and his hand wandered to touch his left forearm. _What’s he got there?_ Draco wondered yet again.

Harry showed all the signs of someone faking it for those around them. There must have been something awful during the War that happened on July 29th, but Draco couldn’t think of anything. The Battle had been in May, and Harry had disappeared from the War right after that. Nearly all the Death Eaters were captured or dead by August. It was the un-Marked supporters that were harder to catch. They had kept up small rebellions for over a year after the Battle.

So what was so special about July 29th?

* * *

 

Harry kept up his charade as well as he could, but when the day ended, so did it. He put the boys to bed without a story and returned to the family room to stare into the fire and wait for Kreacher.

Draco found him there first.

“What’s going on with you today, Harry?” The blonde sounded concerned, not something Harry had ever heard in his voice before.

“I’m remembering a death tonight.”

“Of who?”

Harry wavered between the need to keep his secrets safe and the urge to share his pain and memories. After all, he remembered, Draco had known him too, and for much longer than Harry had. Years longer. Perhaps he’d even been close to him.

“A friend. A mutual friend.” Draco cocked an eyebrow at that. “Kreacher’s off getting something special. Care to join me for a memorial drink?”

“Will you tell me who the friend is? Was?”

“After Kreacher comes back.”

* * *

 

As Draco nodded and sat, the elf in question popped into a room with a bottle and two glasses, took one look at Draco, popped away again and returned with a third before leaving. Harry poured three measures of a clear spirit and took two of the glasses, handing one off to Draco and raising the other toward the fire in a mocking silent toast before draining it. Draco stared into his glass, waiting for answers.

“Alright. Ask.”

“What is it?”

“Gin. His favorite brand. The only thing we ever drank together.”

Draco sipped at his glass of gin. It was good; an expensive brand, then. This mysterious mutual friend of theirs had had money to spend. He wanted to demand a name right off, but he knew that would be all he would get, and Draco wanted the story more than just the name.

“Who was he to you?” Potter closed his eyes for a moment, brow furrowed as he collected his thoughts.

“He was… my Savior, I suppose, just like I am everyone else’s. He was the friend I never thought I’d have. He was my… my jailor, and my protector.”

“Why do you do all this? Have a day to remember him, pour him a glass of his favorite drink and all?”

Silently, Harry unbuttoned the cuff of his left sleeve and pulled it up. There, where Draco’s Dark Mark was, was a tattoo in black ink. The lines ran towards the center from his wrist and his elbow, ink following the veins and arteries. In the middle where the met, they formed the outline of an anatomical heart. The inked organ was beating in time with Harry’s heartbeat, expanding and contracting at an even pace.

“I called him my human heart. He made me believe I still had one, even after everything I’d been through. And, I suppose… I suppose he was my first love.”

That made Draco more curious than he ever though he could be. Who did Draco know that Harry Potter could have fallen in love with? That was _male?_

“What happened to him?”

“His father killed him. For being a traitor. He killed his only child for betraying the cause he was bound to.”

Draco read between the lines. Not just a male, but the son of a _Death Eater_. Harry had fallen for one of the Marked.

“What happened to his father?”

“I killed him.” There was no pause, no emotion. Just Harry’s flat, cold voice stating a fact. “I killed them all.” He threw back another glass of gin before continuing. “With Dark magic, too. I killed them with _his_ magic, their Master’s.” He laughed once without humor. It scared Draco, sent chills down his spine. “Lord Voldemort’s final act of madness against his faithful.”

Draco though for a long time before he asked his last question.

“What was his name?”

“Theo.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: No, I didn't write Harry's bedtime story in, because it's long and I already had it written out as a kind of deleted scene. It's its own story now, called The Peverell Heirlooms.


	7. Chapter 7

Draco was telling the boys about his first Quidditch tryouts when Harry came home. He was worried Harry would withdraw from him again after tell him about Theo the night before, but that didn’t seem to be the case. Harry had joined them at breakfast and talked happily with them before heading off to the Ministry.

Draco grinned up at him from his back on the floor with Teddy and Reggie when he noticed the stocky redhead behind him. Scrambling, he jumped and started to reach for Reggie. Harry had said that no one knew about him, that the boy stayed hidden. Before he could grab the boy, he ran toward the redhead and threw his arms around his waist.

“Charlie!” he cried. Ah, this was one of the older Weasleys, the dragonologist who lived on the Continent. Draco looked toward Harry in confusion.

“Reggie’s godfather,” he explained. “The Weasleys always do something for my birthday at the Burrow. Charlie came in a day early and caught me at the Ministry for a chance to see Reggie again.” He shrugged.

Reggie and Teddy chattered happily at Charlie all through dinner, bringing a rare smile of content to Harry’s face. Draco studied him out of the corner of his eye. Harry’s face relaxed when his sons were truly happy. It made him look younger, full of life. It was a huge change from the haunted, tired expression he’d had the night before, when he talked about Theo.

Draco was still trying to come to turns with everything Harry had told him the night before. Theo had been faithful to the Death Eaters, then turned against them. Theo had died at his own father’s hand.

Theo and Harry had loved each other.

That bit of information messed with his head the most, though he didn’t know why. Was it because that meant Theo had liked guys? Because Potter liked guys? Because Harry Potter, of all people, had fallen in love with a Marked Death Eater?

Because he had a chance with Harry now? Was he jealous of Theo for having a place in Harry’s heart, a mark on his skin?

Draco shook those thoughts away and applied himself to his roast. He couldn’t think about Harry that way. Potter was his jailer, his guardian, nothing more. Sure, the boys liked him, but that didn’t mean he was about to become their other father. He didn’t even want that.

Did he?

Harry’s knee nudged him under the table, startling Draco out of his thoughts. He looked up into Harry’s green eyes, blushing at being caught lost in his head. He firmly told himself that no part of his embarrassment came from his thoughts about Harry.

And it definitely wasn’t because of the way Harry licked his lips to catch a stray drop of gravy.

Draco shook his head in response to Potter’s raised eyebrow, turning to watch Teddy try to make his hair look like Charlie’s. The boy managed a shade of fluorescent orange that made everyone laugh.

* * *

 

After dinner, Teddy and Reggie went out to the garden with Draco to play. Harry and Charlie moved to the sitting room to catch up. Harry only really saw Charlie once a year, and a lot had happened in the last year.

“So, Lord Potter,” the dragonologist smirked, “I hear you’re quite the big deal in the Wizengamot.” Harry smacked him lightly on the arm, laughing.

“Yeah, well, when have I not been a spanner in the works? Honestly, though, I’ve got all these titles and mass amounts of money, why shouldn’t I use them to change what needs changing? Wizarding Britain’s incredibly old-fashioned.” Charlie nodded.

“I get that. But, believe it or not, I didn’t come here to talk about stuffy old nobles and politicians! I’ve got a birthday present for you. I figured it’s probably best to give you this one in private.” Harry raised an eyebrow as Charlie dug in his pockets. He produced a miniaturized leather harness. “It’s a dragon harness! I’ve got it charmed to stay with your dragon form when you shift back, kind of like Animagi keep their clothes with them even when shift back and forth.”

Harry took the little harness with a smile. Charlie was the only person outside his little family (besides Draco now) that knew about his Animagus form. He was right, giving him the harness in front of all the Weasleys would have brough awkward questions, especially from Hermione.

“Merlin, Charlie…thank you,” he whispered, touched. Charlie grinned.

“I can help you put it on later.” He paused, thoughtful. “Does…does Malfoy know? I can tell he knows about Reggie, obviously, but how much else…?”

“Most of it, I guess,” Harry shrugged. “He’s living here for the next two years, and I hate keeping secrets in my own home. He’s taking it all really well. The boys love him. For all he says he’s had no experience with children, he’s great with them.” He smiled. Charlie smirked at him.

“Why, Lord Potter! If I didn’t know better, I’d someone had a soft spot for a certain blond Slytherin,” he teased. Harry blushed hotly and smacked Charlie again.

“Shut up,” he mumbled, “I do not.” Charlie just raised an eyebrow, and Harry sighed. “Fine. Maybe a little. It’s just…he’s not one of those young blokes in the Wizengamot falling over themselves and bowing whenever they see me, or those women who drown themselves in perfume and simper at me, you know? He’s…” he trailed off, but Charlie nodded in understanding.

“He’s real. I get it, Harry. There’s not many out there who see you as Harry, instead of Lord Potter or the Savior or the Boy-Who-Lived. There’s nothing wrong with wanting that.” He slung a comforting arm around Harry’s shoulders. “There aren’t many people who would like it, but if you want him, go after him, yeah? It’s not about them, it’s about you.” Harry hugged him.

“Thank you, Charlie.”

* * *

 

Draco stopped dead with his mouth open, words stuck in his throat.

On the sofa, Charlie Weasley was wrapped around Harry, with Potter’s head buried in his chest, talking quietly. Draco felt something in his chest pinch and nearly slapped himself.

‘Stupid! He’s always like the Weasleys better than you! What chance did you have against a dragonologist for a dragon Animagus?’

Charlie spotted him and pulled away from Harry quickly, flushing lightly. Draco held back a growl, and the redhead said something in a low voice to Harry that had him whipping his head around and blushing. Draco decided he was better off not knowing.

“I, um…just, the boys wanted to know if you guys are coming out to play with them or not,” he stuttered out, then turned on his heel and fled.

Merlin, he was such an idiot! Generations of Malfoys would be ashamed by his lack of composure, and lusting after Potter! What was wrong with him? He returned to the garden, seating himself (not hiding, thank you very much!) on a bench in a semi-dark corner.

Clearly his not-hiding place wasn’t very good, since Potter found him instantly.

“Something wrong tonight, Draco?” he asked, sitting beside him. Rather close beside him, actually.

“No, nothing.” Everything. He didn’t know.

“Charlie brought his gift with him tonight,” Harry explained quietly. “Look, I had planned to have you stay with Reggie tomorrow night but,…do you want to come to dinner at the Burrow?” Draco was caught off-guard by the question. Normally he would want nothing to do with Weasleys, but to show up by Harry’s side…?

“Oh! Um, I don’t…” he stuttered again, groaning internally at himself.

“I’d like you to come,” Harry said seriously, and didn’t Draco just lose himself in those eyes?

“They’ll yell at you,” he argued weakly. “I don’t want to ruin your birthday.” Harry gave one of those heart-melting lopsided smiles.

“Nonsense! I’ll tell them they’re not allowed to yell. It is my birthday, after all.” Draco laughed.

“Alright, then. But don’t say I never warned you!” Harry joined his laughter.

“Great! Now c’mon, I’ve got something you’ll want to see.” He rose and grabbed Draco’s hand, tugging him off the bench and toward the other three. “Charlie’s gift, it’s a dragon harness,” he explained. “He’s going to help me put it on tonight. Remember that dragon I had to fight in the Triwizard Tournament? Well, I’m about to show you something even better!”

Draco laughed at his excitement.

* * *

 

Harry liked hearing Draco laugh. It was different now, a real laugh, not the mocking one he’d had in school. He felt Draco’s hand tighten around his, soft and warm against his callused fingers. This was the kind of moment he could live in forever.

Harry brought there joined hands to rest on the crystal pendant Charlie held out. When both boys had their hands on it, Charlie said the keyword and the portkey whisked them all away.

“Oops, meant to warn you about that,” Harry mumbled, ducking his head at Draco’s glare.

“Where are we?” he asked, looking around the empty, open hillside.

“Scottish highlands. This is a deserted moor where Harry can change,” Charlie answered, removing the Shrinking Charm on the harness. “It’s too crowded in London, too many eyes.”

“Are you gonna show Draco your dragon, Daddy?” asked Reggie excitedly. Teddy was bouncing around. Both boys thought it was just the coolest thing ever that their Daddy could turn into a dragon.

“I sure am!” He answered with a smile. “Now, you two take Draco and get out of the way, alright?” Teddy immediately grabbed a wide-eyed Draco’s hand and started tugging him backwards. Harry chuckled and turned to Charlie.

“Ready?” the redhead asked. Harry nodded.

Reaching down into his core, he pulled up his magic. He wrapped himself in the feelings and instincts of his inner dragon. Magic flowed across his skin, and he felt the tickle as soft flesh shifted into hard scales. The magical fire began to burn in his chest as his bones shifted and grew. He dropped to four legs just as his hands became paws with long, wickedly sharp claws. The top of Charlie’s head grew farther away as he reached his final height of twenty-five feet. A shiver ran through him as the change ended and he roared, stretching his wings and blasting a column of fire into the night sky.

He could see Draco staring at him with his head craned back. Reggie and Teddy squealed and laughed, running to climb on his tail. Charlie walked around him, the dragonologist inspecting joints and muscles, touching scales as he went.

“Still in good form, Harry,” he decided. “Let’s get this thing on you, shall we?”

Harry dipped his head low, crouching so Charlie could levitate the harness over his back. The leather straps expanded to fit as the stocky redhead clambered around, buckling and tightening. At last, he seemed to decide it was perfect, telling Harry to roll his shoulders and rotate his wings. The harness fit snuggly, but didn’t pinch anywhere.

“Great! All that’s left is a test run,” he said. Then he smirked rather evilly. “Malfoy! Ever ridden a dragon?”

Draco went white and started stuttering again. Harry let a growling laugh rumble in his chest. He nudged at the backs of Draco’s knees with his tail, making him come closer. Charlie ignored the blond’s excuses, heaving him onto Harry’s back and tightening the straps on his legs and around his waist. He put the reins in Draco’s hands and slapped Harry on the side.

“Off you go!” he shouted, scrambling out of the way as Harry stretched out massive wings and took off, Draco screaming the whole way up.


	8. Chapter 8

It’s not that Draco was afraid of heights, _persay_. It was really more of an Oh-Merlin-there’s-a-massive-lizard-underneath-me-that-used-to-be-Harry-and-if-I-fall-off-I’ll-die kind of moment.

And really, could anyone blame him for screaming? Besides, he stopped the embarrassing squeal when Harry leveled out ten stories up or so. Of course, as soon as he caught his breath, Potter was off doing loops and barrel rolls that had Draco holding onto the straps with white-knuckled hands, heart alternately in his throat and somewhere below his toes.

In retrospect, he probably should have kept screaming.

Harry rolled over and over in a nausea-inducing series of maneuvers, letting out a delighted roar and painting the sky with fire again. Draco whimpered.

After he seemed to get that out of his system, his flying became much calmer. He seemed to being showing off for Draco, executing wide turns and sharp dives that never came close to the ground. It took Draco a bit to understand that he was doing a standard Seeker’s warm-up, but he laughed out loud when he realized it.

No wonder Potter always outflew everyone on the pitch. He was meant to be in the air.

Flying with a dragon was so much better than a broom! Harry’s steady wingbeat around him, his tail swishing out to complete the sharpest turns he’d ever done, no broom could match the feeling of a living being born to the air.

“Wronskei Feint!” he shouted into the rushing wind. Harry snorted, a short burst of flame from each nostril. He flapped higher, gaining altitude. When the three people on the ground were no larger than ants, he snapped his wings close to his body, rolled over, and dived nose-first toward the ground.

Draco screamed again, this time with a breathless joy, as the hard earth came rushing up to meet them. Suddenly Potter flared his wings out to their full extent, jerking them to a near stop, and landed lightly on four feet. Draco laughed, still shaking with nerves and adrenaline.

“Fantastic flying, Harry!” Charlie called, rushing over to let Draco out of the straps. Harry rumbled in agreement. Draco stood on wobbly legs to watch as Harry shifted back, his rumble turning into delighted laughter.

* * *

 

Harry felt light, freer than he had in weeks. Flying was what he was meant to do. There were no restrictions on him in the air. Shifting back always made him a little sad. His human body was stuck to the ground, a weak suit of skin easily torn and balanced precariously on two legs.

He’d never flown with anyone in his dragon form before. It was surprisingly fun, hearing Draco’s reactions to his movements. Perhaps he had shown off a bit, but having a passenger made it more enjoyable.

‘Maybe it’s just having _Draco_ ,’ a snide voice whispered in his head. He told the voice to shut up.

Draco was a sight for sore eyes, standing on unsteady legs. His eyes were bright, fine blond hair a windswept mess, cheeks flushed attractively. Harry just wanted to kiss him.

_What?_

* * *

 

Draco stared at the fireplace warily. Tonight was the dinner at the Weasley house. He wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

But, Harry had wanted him there. So Draco was going.

“Ready?” came Harry’s voice from behind him. He chuckled at the look on Draco’s face. “It’ll be fine. They’re not allowed to treat you badly.” Draco pulled a face that clearly said he doubted Weasleys would listen to him.

“I reserve the right to say ‘I told you so’ in the end,” he informed him dryly. Harry grinned.

“I’m sure you’ll shout it from the roof for the next week if you’re right. Now c’mon, we don’t want to be late.”

“Don’t we?” Draco muttered under his breath, hoisting Teddy up on his hip and stepping into the green flames. Harry followed, pulling Draco close with an arm around his waist as he called out for the Burrow.

Somehow, Draco couldn’t bring himself care. Almost unconsciously, he leaned forward into Harry’s muscular frame as the world spun around them.

Conversation stopped as an entire army of redheads watched the three of them step from the Floo. Draco’s nerves came back full force.

“Hey, guys! I brought Draco as my guest tonight, is that alright?” It wasn’t a question. Scattered murmurs broke out as people agreed, then conversation began to rise again. Draco let out a sigh of relief.

“Oh, well, Draco…dear, it’s so nice to see you here,” the red-haired matriarch stuttered out. “Harry’s never brought a guest before.”

“It’s lovely to be here, Mrs. Weasley,” he replied quietly, falling back on his Malfoy manners. “Harry absolutely _insisted_ that I come.”

“Did he now?” A knowing sparkle lit her eye, and her smile became more genuine. Draco wondered what that was about, but was soon swept away into the thick of things.

“Hey there, Wolfling!” cried a scared young man with long hair. The oldest son, he remembered. Attacked by Ferir Greyback on the night he let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts. Draco set Teddy on the floor, averting his eyes in shame.

“Hey Bill, Fleur,” Harry greeted. Draco felt a calming brush of fingertips across the back of his neck and shivered. Harry was standing beside him, showing his support in front of his family. He was incredibly grateful, but torn that Harry had to do such a thing at all.

Dinner was still strained, though the kind attentions of Mrs. Weasley and Teddy’s excited chatter helped dispel some of the tension. Draco ate heartily, trying to ignore the bitter stares from Ronald, Granger, and, surprisingly, Ginerva. He couldn’t recall ever having done anything directly to her, but every time Harry bumped shoulders with him she gave him a heated glare.

After dinner Draco ended nursing a glass of Firewhiskey and polite conversation with Charlie while Harry talked and laughed with the rest.

“I’m glad Harry brought you tonight,” Charlie told him. “It’s the only time each year his spends with his entire family.”

“I’m not sure I really fit into this happy picture,” he replied, swirling his drink. Charlie gave him a knowing smile. Honestly, what was it with these Weasleys and their sly looks?

“Oh, I think you’re more a part of it than you realize. Or you will be, anyway. You’re a good thing for him, you know? Something real in that crazy world of his.” The dragonologist tossed back the rest of his drink and stood. “I better get to bed, tomorrow’s an early morning. Har’, happy twenty-first, mate!”

Harry tossed him a wave and grin from where he stood across the room. Draco took a sip of his drink, watching Harry openly.

His eyes crinkled at the edges with mirth at something Ronald said. He tossed his head back and laughed, the carefree sound rolling through the room.

Draco wasn’t the only one watching Harry. Ginerva had hungry eyes fixed on his face. Hadn’t they dated in school? Was she trying to take him back? She laid a hand on his chest possessively, and Draco’s hand tightened on his glass. She tilted her head up at him, but thankfully he shook her off, stepping back.

“Just gonna get some air, mate, yeah? Let Teddy have some more time with Bill and Fleur before we take him home,” he called over his shoulder as he headed toward Draco. “Want to go for a walk?”

Draco tossed back the rest of the drink. Oh, what the hell.

“Sure.”

* * *

 

Walks in the moonlight were surprisingly intimate, Harry decided. Just him and Draco and the apple trees, out under the stars. They walked in silence, neither one daring to break the silence.

They ended up in the clearing Harry had played games of two-on-two Quidditch during the summers. He lay on his back in the grass, staring up at the stars.

“The first time I saw the Burrow, I thought, ‘ _that’s_ what a magical house should look like,’” he said quietly. Draco stayed silent, seated beside him on the ground. “I grew up without magic, without a family. The Weasleys had both. A house full of kids, gnomes in the garden, a ghoul in the attic. I didn’t care that they didn’t have money or standing. They were everything I ever wanted.”

He was quiet for a long moment, then he laughed softly.

“It feels like I’m justifying them now. They’re my family now, but if I’d grown up like I should have, if I’d grown up like _you_ did, would I even talk to them?” He sighed. “Don’t listen to me. Too much Firewhiskey, I’m just rambling now.”

“No,” Draco said, “you’re not.” He took Harry’s hand gently and Harry sat up to face him. “They’re important to you. Your past, this family, made you who you are. Don’t waste time on what-ifs.”

They were face-to-face, so close now. Just a few inches apart. Harry looked into silver eyes, brighter than the moon, and forgot everything he might have wanted to say. There was only them, two left-overs from the great and terrible war, together beneath the stars.

With a monumental effort, he tore his eyes away and pulled back his hand.

“We should get back.” He rose, trying to ignore the heartbroken expression in Draco’s eye.

Trying, but failing.


	9. Chapter 9

Confusion was too tame a word to describe the state Draco spent his night. Total bewilderment, perhaps. With a big side dish of heartbreak, sprinkled throughout with little dashes of anger.

Harry, on the other hand, seemed totally fine, and didn’t that just make Draco worse? He might have even though it was just a disappointing dream and given up hope, if he didn’t keep catching Harry staring sidelong at him. Those emerald eyes always flicked away when Draco turned his head, and a light blush would creep onto his neck.

So Draco kept hoping. And waiting.

He dreamt that night of sitting on the grass in the apple orchard under the light of the moon. Every detail was the same as it had happened, but with a much better ending.

_“Don’t waste time on what-ifs,” Draco said, holding Harry’s hand in his. They leaned closer and closer, drawn together by some irresistible magnetic force they couldn’t explain._

_“Draco…” Harry whispered, his breath ghosting across Draco’s lips. His lips followed, sealing themselves to his gently. Draco responded eagerly, bringing his free hand up to rake through messy black hair. He scratched his nails across Harry’s scalp, drawing a groan from deep in the man’s chest. Harry brought hands to his hips, gripping them tightly, urging Draco’s lips open with his tongue._

_He pushed the taller man to his back on the grass, settling his body above the blond’s. Harry’s mouth moved down across his jaw, nipping at his neck. Callused hands roamed up along his sides and down again._

_“Harry,” Draco moaned as a hand slid along his waistband, dipping fingertips teasingly inside. Teeth pulled at his earlobe, making him gasp and arch when the hand slid back down the front of his trousers to grasp his-_

“What the HELL do you want now?!”

Draco shot up in his bed, hard and gasping. Harry’s anger echoing through the house was sufficient to get rid of his...little issue as he climbed out of bed to see what the problem was.

Harry was back in the Floo Room when Draco peeked through the open door. He had last night’s shirt on over sleep pants and was glaring coldly at Granger and Ronald Weasley. Draco hoped this being woken by shouting wasn’t going to be a regular occurrence at Grimmauld Place.

“I didn’t say anything last night since it was your birthday, but how could you bring him?” Weasley was demanding. Harry narrowed his eyes.

“I wanted him to be there. I trust him. I’m not crazy, I haven’t ‘gone Dark,’ and I’m not kicking him out so he can rot in Azkaban!”

“Harry, please, we just want to talk with you! Can we go sit down and talk about-”

“No.” Granger was cut off by Harry’s cold reply.

“Harry, I don’t think the Floo Room is really the place for a conversation,” she wheedled.

“It doesn’t really matter where we are since there isn’t going to be a conversation. I told you last time you barged in here to owl ahead, and I didn’t get any owl this morning. I see you’ve decided to poke your noses into things that aren’t your business again and enter _my_ house without an invitation besides.” Harry’s posture was rigid, no friendliness in his words or gestures. “I’ll be sealing my Floo with a password today and updating the wards. You can either leave now or I can throw you out. _Again_.” Weasley’s face twisted, red with fury.

“I don’t know when you turned into such a bastard, but we’re trying to help you! You know Malfoy as well as we do. You can’t trust him! Especially with Teddy,” he shouted, ushering his wife towards the Floo.

“I would dare say I know Draco better than any of you, and I still trust him. _Especially_ with Teddy,” Harry growled back as Weasley stepped into the Floo, and then he was gone.

* * *

 

Harry slumped as Ron spun in the flames and disappeared.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He spun to face to door, where the quiet voice had come from. Draco was leaning against the frame in just a pair of pajama pants, staring at him with a curious light in his eye.

“If I kick you out, then you have to go to Azkaban. Unless you’d rather have that?” Harry asked in a weary voice. He hadn’t slept well, haunted by the moment-that-could-have-been in the Weasleys’ orchard.

“That doesn’t mean you have to through your friends out for me. You don’t have to _save_ me, Potter,” Draco returned evenly. Harry grit his teeth.

“Has it occurred to you that maybe I’m protecting my own interest?” he snapped out before he could stop himself, then flushed. He hadn’t meant to betray so much of himself.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to like Draco, it was that he didn’t want to let himself like Draco. He was the man’s guardian, his jailer. He didn’t accept custody over Malfoy to become his lover, for Merlin’s sake!

Somewhere, deep inside himself, he was afraid of falling in love. He couldn’t forget the first man he’d loved and what had happened to him. He would never shake the image of Theo Nott laying broken in that graveyard, empty eyes reflecting the stars. He’d never told Theo he loved him, neither of them had. The situation was too dangerous to admit it, even to themselves.

But here was safe. There was no chance that Draco might have to kill him or torture him under his father’s orders. The War was over, done, finished. No one was anyone’s prisoner here. Draco was more of a restricted guest than a prisoner.

So why wouldn’t he let himself fall in love?

“Oh? And what’s your interest here?” Draco’s voice was a purr, making Harry’s heart beat faster.

“The boys love having you around. You leave and they’ll probably go back to throwing fits and making me come home early from the Ministry.” He almost felt bad using his sons as an excuse, but it was such a flimsy tale he could tell Draco saw right through it.

“Really?” Draco smirked, walking toward him slowly. Harry found himself being backed toward the wall. “You know, I don’t believe that. Much as you love your kids, I think your interests are all. About. You.”

* * *

 

Draco leaned in close, breathing his words across Harry’s skin.

“Just admit it,” he urged. “Harry…”

The shorter man looked up at him, panic reflected in his wide green eyes. Before Draco could make another move, he turned on his heel and apparated away.

“Fuck!” Draco punched the wall. He’d scared him off for sure. Life was about to get incredibly awkward in Number Twelve.

Awkward didn’t even begin to describe it.

For a week, Harry went out of his way to avoid being alone with Draco. He danced away whenever they brushed against each other accidentally. He refused to meet his eyes.

Draco was at the end of his rope. He couldn’t stop dreaming of the kiss-that-almost-was, each one turning into a thousand different possibilities that all ended with them pressed together in the grass. He changed for bed, tossing his clothes angrily across the room. He was tired of dreaming of things that never happened, dreams that left him aroused and unsatisfied. He almost wished the nightmares were back.

He should have known better than to wish. The Fates listen in at the worst moments sometimes.

_He was watching the Battle of Hogwarts again. The Dark Lord came up from the forest with the body of Harry Potter, proudly proclaiming him dead. The Death Eaters threw him on the ground in the courtyard and he bounced, limp like a rag doll._

_The Dark Lord gave his speech, then Longbottom gave his own little speech. He swung at the great snake with the sword, but he missed this time. The swing overbalanced him and he fell to the ground. Nagini struck, sinking fangs deep into his neck._

_No, that wasn’t right! Draco was supposed to stand there and watch Longbottom bleed out on the flagstones. Longbottom killed the snake, then Harry appeared, this wasn’t right!_

_But Harry wasn’t moving. His glasses were gone, open, glassy eyes stared up at the sky. Death Eaters laughed mockingly as Longbottom gurgled. They cast spell after spell at Harry’s body, making it flop lifelessly. The Dark Lord joined in, cutting him open, setting fire to his body._

_No, it wasn’t right! That wasn’t how it happened, they won, the Dark Lord died! Harry didn’t die, he was alright, Harry was alive!_

_Harry didn’t jump up and start dueling. He just lay there, bleeding sluggishly, his clothes burning away. The Dark Lord stepped forward, crouching by the body, hiding it from view. When he stood up again, he held Harry’s severed head high in the air. He laughed, high and cold, and his crimson eyes met Draco’s._

_Draco screamed._

* * *

 

The scream echoed through the empty halls of Grimmauld Place. Harry sat bolt upright, clutching one of his knives. The scream didn’t belong to Reggie or Teddy, they never had nightmares.

Draco.

Harry didn’t think, he just moved, reacting to the terror he heard in the man’s voice. He grabbed a shirt, just barely pulling it over his head as he apparated away.

Draco was thrashing, stuck in his dreams, caught in his sheets. Harry caught his shoulder tightly, taking both wrists in one hand to hold him still.

“Draco. Draco! It isn’t real, it’s just a dream,” he said, half soothing, half yelling. “It’s not real. Draco, c’mon, wake up! You need to wake up!”

Silver eyes flashed open, roaming wildly across the room. They locked on his, and Draco stilled, panting.

“You’re alive,” was all he said, then he surged forward, connecting his lips to Harry’s.

Harry dropped his wrists in surprise and Draco wove one hand into Harry’s hair, clutching at it tightly. The other gripped the back of Harry’s neck as Draco kissed him harshly and desperately.

Just as suddenly as he began, Draco broke off. He looked away, face red with shame and embarrassment. He let go of Harry, dropping his hands to twist them in his lap.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just…nightmare. You died at Hogwarts.” His blush spread down his neck and bare chest.

“I-it’s fine,” Harry stuttered, struggling to catch up with what just happened. He let go of the blond’s shoulder. “Shouldn’t have woken you like that, but you were screaming and…”

He understood the desperation Draco had felt. He understood the relief he had felt, just seeing his face. He’d had nightmares like that, too. He still had nightmares. He couldn’t have a night’s sleep without one.

“I…I’ll let you get back to sleep.” He turned to go back to bed when a pale hand caught his wrist.

“Stay.” Draco looked at him with wide eyes, still full of fear. “Just…just until I fall asleep. Please stay.”

Harry gritted his teeth at the memories. ‘This isn’t then,’ he told himself firmly. ‘Draco isn’t Theo, and this isn’t Riddle House. This is different, no one will die tonight.’

“Alright.”

He climbed into bed next to Draco, wrapping a comforting arm around his shoulders as the taller man curled into his chest. He was still panting, his heart racing. Harry rubbed gentle circles on his back.

“Sleep, Draco, I’m right here.”


	10. Chapter 10

The bed was empty and cold when Draco woke.

For a long moment, Draco wondered why that felt wrong. He’d woken alone nearly every morning of his life. Then he saw the little fingertip bruises on his shoulder where Harry had gripped him hard, trying to wake him up and the whole thing came back to him.

“Oh, fuck.”

Nightmare. Dead Potter. Harry alive. Kissing Harry. _Stay_.

“ _Shit_.”

Draco groaned. What an idiot he’d been! What a moron! He’d thrown himself at Harry after a nightmare, like some sniveling little girl, then he had to go and beg him to stay. If he hadn’t scared him away before, he had definitely ruined everything now. It would be a wonder if Harry would even be able to look at him.

It’d be a miracle if he could look Harry in the eye.

Briefly, Draco wondered if he could just spend the whole day in bed, wallowing. Then he remembered he had planned to help Reggie with his flying that afternoon. The boy was good, but he didn’t have the instinctual control his father had.

So Draco gritted his teeth and forced himself to face the day. He climbed out of bed and got dressed.

Just as he was about to leave the room, a glint of silver caught his eye. There, on the floor near the bed. Right where Harry had appeared last night. It was a knife, a slim blade with a leather-wrapped handle.

He picked it up curiously. It was no potions blade or kitchen knife. This was a weapon, nothing else. The steel blade was thick in the center and razor sharp, polished to a mirror shine. Draco had never owned such a thing in his life. All his knives were silver blades, for potions work, or ritual knives, too thin and decorative to be of any real use.

This must be Potter’s, then. He must have had it in his hand when he showed up in Draco’s room, then dropped it to free up both his hands. That would mean…

Draco shook his head. Just how paranoid was Harry, that he slept with a knife? Just what had happened to him since school?

* * *

 

Harry did his usual morning check as he got dressed.

Left bicep, left side, right side, inside right thigh, right boot…

He was missing a blade.

He remembered Draco screaming, jumping up with a knife in his hand, apparating directly to Draco’s room. He must have dropped it when he tried to hold him still. He’d have to grab it after breakfast, then.

He entered the kitchen for breakfast, dropping kisses on Teddy’s and Reggie’s heads. He accepted a plate from Winky with a smile, sitting down across from Draco. The blond was stabbing at his poached eggs, letting them bleed yellow yolk across his plate.

“Morning, Draco,” he said. Malfoy grunted, flush rising on his pale neck. “Did the eggs insult you somehow?” Draco kept his head down, skewering one rather viciously before eating it. He was quiet for a long moment.

“You left,” he said softly. Harry sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. Sometimes breakfast was the most awkward meal of the day.

“You only asked me to stay until you fell asleep,” he pointed out.

“So you stayed awake until then, then you went all the way back to your room?” Draco demanded. “You could have stayed, you know.”

“I don’t share a bed.” Never again. Not after…he shook his head slightly, chasing the memories away. “I have nightmares too, Draco. Every night. Every time I fall asleep. I wake up screaming every time.”

“Then why don’t I ever here you?” he asked angrily. “I’ve been here nearly a month! How come no one hears you, but I wake up the whole house?”

“One-way silencing charms. No one hears me, ever,” Harry met his eyes steadily, though he _really_ didn’t want to talk about it. “Waking me up would probably get you killed before I realize what’s going on. Ask Kreacher, he’s dodged a few knives.”

“You honestly sleep with this thing?” Draco brought out his missing knife.

“Oh good, I was missing that one.” Harry snatched it blade-first, flipping it up into the air and letting the hilt smack into his palm. He propped his boot up on the bench and slid it into place. “I hate leaving the house one short.” He put an end to any conversation by leaving the room, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to start on some editing on his proposals at the Ministry, denying that he was running away.

He didn’t want Draco to tempt him into spilling his secrets.

* * *

 

“One short…?” Draco muttered in confusion. He turned to Reggie. “Does he have more than one?”

“Daddy always has at least three. He has six when he goes to the Ministry,” Reggie informed him in a matter-of-fact voice. Teddy nodded, shoveling eggs into his mouth.

“Why?” Both boys turned wide eyes toward him.

“He won’t tell us. Daddy says we shouldn’t ask.”

“Well, _I’m_ asking,” Draco grumbled. He knew Harry was hiding something big. It was probably the reason he kept pulling back, the reason he didn’t stay.

He wondered if it might be the reason for everything. Could Harry hide something that big? Something that might go all the way back to whatever he hadn’t said about Theo? Harry had called him his jailer, a term Draco had overlooked at the time, but what did that mean? Potter had never been captured! It would have been all over the papers if he had gone missing, everyone would know about it.

Just like he had though everyone would know if the great Harry Potter was a father.

Connections started blooming in Draco’s mind. Harry’s tattoo, Theo, Reggie and his three fathers, his “jailer,” sleeping with knives, the cut-off sentences, the haunted look in his eyes sometimes. Three years ago, Reggie had been born of a ritual using the blood of three powerful wizards, two of them bitter enemies. Two of them dead, one barely alive. The Dark Lord, the Boy-Who-Lived, and the Death Eater who changed his mind. What had brought their blood together to make little Reggie?

How had Harry Potter come to sire a child with Voldemort?

Only one answer made sense: force. He hadn’t had a choice. At some point three years previous, Harry’s blood had been taken from him. Somehow, Theo had a role in that story. Draco knew it, but he couldn’t quite make it fit.

He knew those answers held the reasons Harry had left last night. He could feel it in his bones. Because of something that had happened in his past, Harry was holding himself back, holding himself away from Draco. It wasn’t that he wanted to, Draco could tell, it was that he felt he had to. After all, Harry had kissed back. He just needed to know _why_ Harry was like this, _why_ he was scared.

And he didn’t think Harry would be offering up answers any time soon.

He waited for Harry in the entrance hall again.

“Care to explain?” he asked coldly. Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“No,” he answered shortly.

“Listen, Potter, I’m not stupid. I can tell you’re hiding something, and I can bet it has to do with Reggie and Theo. I can figure out it’s the reason you keep pulling away from me when I _know_ you don’t want to, and I think I’m owed some answers!”

“I disagree,” Harry glared at him coldly. “I told you in the beginning there are some questions you can’t ask, and you just asked a whole bunch of them. Don’t forget why you’re here in my house, Draco. I didn’t invite you here as my _lover_ ,” he spit out. Draco reeled back, hurt. Then he lunged, reaching for Potter’s collar, his neck-

-and found himself slammed against the wall, the flat of a knife against his throat and a wand digging into the space between two ribs.

“Wrong choice, Malfoy,” Harry growled.

* * *

 

Harry stared into wide silver eyes, not letting the pressure up for a second. Draco had tried to attack him, and Harry had reacted. No one would ever get a hold on him in a fight again. He made sure of that.

“You should count yourself lucky I’m still aware enough to let you keep your head,” he warned. “I’m not responsible to you for my actions, you’ve got it the wrong way ‘round. Remember that you chose my house over Azkaban. Try to touch me again like that and you’ll wonder why you didn’t chose prison with your father.”

He called to the wards with him magic, forcing them to bend to his will and wrap around Draco’s motionless form.

“I don’t want to see your face for the next week, do you understand?” As soon as the blond nodded, Harry let the wards go. They pulled at Draco, apparating him to his room and sealing him in. They wouldn’t let him out while Harry was still in the house.

Harry slumped to the floor, breathing hard.

He had not needed that after his day. Support for his proposals was hard to come by. Traditionalism was strong in the Wizengamot. Very few wanted to change the Heir Laws. Most of them were only sons of only sons and had only one son each.

He hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, making sure Draco was okay, then he had come out of nowhere and wanted answers and explanations. He wanted to strip Harry of his secrets, all his moments of weakness, all the dark times in his life. He wanted Harry to love him, and Harry wanted to fall in love with Draco, but he was scared. He was afraid and he didn’t want to admit it.

And it was all tied up in his secrets.

He sighed and heaved himself up off the floor. He needed to tell Kreacher to take Draco’s dinner to his room.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: To celebrate reaching 2000 hits last night (early this morning?), I'm giving you, my faithful readers, TWO chapters today!
> 
> Enjoy!

Harry was beyond frustrated. He sat back in his office chair, all six knives in his hand. He chucked the first at the wall.

THUNK. It stuck point-first and quivering in the plaster.

They called him a jumped-up boy-hero.

THUNK.

A young man still wet behind the ears.

THUNK.

They spoke to him patronizingly, asking what he thought he knew about their world.

THUNK.

They told him he wasn’t old enough to understand.

THUNK.

They laughed, saying he wasn’t raised in their world, he didn’t understand their traditions.

“Harry?”

THUNK.

Harry tossed the final blade over his head, turning to see it embedded in the wall just above the open door. Draco stared at it, still ducked in a crouch.

“Rough week,” he grunted. “What do you want, Malfoy?” Draco swallowed hard, standing straight again.

“I just wanted to apologize for my actions last week. I…I was out of line. You took me in when I asked and kept me out of Azkaban, and I demanded things I have no right to. I’m sorry.” There was real emotion in his eyes that moved Harry. He dropped his gaze from Harry’s, twisting his hands.

“I reacted badly,” he answered. “There’s a lot that’s happened to me that I wish hadn’t happened. I can’t let it get out, there’d be an uproar, so the easiest thing to do is not trust anyone. It colors a lot of what I do now, and it makes it hard,” he stopped, then decided to throw caution to the wind and just say it. “It makes it hard to let people in. I want to let you in, Draco, I really do. I just…”

Draco looked back up at him, hope shining in his silver eyes. In that moment, words were not enough. Words were too hard, but actions were easy. Actions spoke volumes about all the things he couldn’t fit into words.

So he kissed him. Softly, he cradled Draco’s jaw in one hand, dropping the other to his waist, and he gently pressed their lips together. He tried to explain everything he could in the movements of his mouth.

* * *

 

Kissing Harry was so much better than any of his dreams. Even the filthy ones. He’d give them all up in a second to just stay in this moment with Harry, pressed against him, breathing him in. He wrapped his arms around his neck, tilting his head and deepening the kiss.

This was Harry’s apology and explanation in one, and Draco forgave him. He ignored his questions, set them aside. Harry would only answers them when he felt like it, not a moment before. So Draco drove everything from his mind, focusing only in the lips on his, the fingers sliding along his jaw, the hand tightening on his waist. He let the world fade away until there was only the two of them, together, in the middle of Harry’s office.

Harry broke away after a long moment, pressing their foreheads together.

“I want this, Draco,” he whispered. “I want you, here, but it’s not going to be easy for me.” Draco smirked lightly at that.

“When is anything ever easy with you, Potter?” he joked, tipping his head down to kiss him again. Harry indulged him a bit before pulling away again.

“Later,” he promised. “It’s time for dinner.” But the hand on his waist flexed, and Harry didn’t move. Draco knew he could drive dinner out of his mind entirely, but he also knew he shouldn’t.

“Dinner,” he reminded Harry after a minute of not moving. “You should ask Reggie what I’ve been teaching him about potions…”

That got him to move. Harry stepped away. He summoned the knife above the door (and didn’t that just scare the magic out of Draco when it came flying toward him?) back to his hand _wandlessly_ and stuffed it into his boot. He stepped toward the door, but at the last second he reached back and took Draco’s hand.

“I can promise you I’ll try,” was all he said. Draco understood.

Harry let his knee rest against Draco’s under the table as he listened to Reggie chatter about everything he’d learned about potion-making. Draco enjoyed teaching the little monster. He was always ready to learn, serious about everything, and asking lots of questions.

Teddy liked learning too, but he didn’t have the focus Reggie did. He didn’t have much of an interest in potions, preferring the outdoors to the indoors. He’d dragged Draco out to teach him about the plants in the garden any number of times. Whenever the sun was out and shining, which wasn’t much in England, Draco gave up and played with the two of them in the garden, rolling his eyes at their antics.

But he liked the little buggers.

It was strange. When he’d decided to write to Potter, about a month and a half ago, he hadn’t expected it to turn out anything like it had. He had anticipated long days of nothing, reading everything Potter might have in his literary-challenged library, broken by the occasional shouting match. He hadn’t expected a responsible single parent with a slew of seats on the Wizengamot. He hadn’t expected to become a sort of nanny or tutor and to be happy while doing it. He hadn’t expected to enjoy spending his time with three-year-old boys.

He hadn’t expected to start falling in love.

* * *

 

It had become a routine in Grimmauld Place. Draco gave him a kiss before he left for the Ministry. He got snubbed by stuffy old wizards who thought it was still the Golden Age of their society. He came home angry and frustrated and worked it all out by kissing Draco for all he was worth. Then they all sat down to a nice dinner and passed the rest of the evening quietly. He still didn’t stay the night with Draco, and Draco still wasn’t allowed into his room.

No need to explain _that_ , after all. _That_ was a whole other can of worms he didn’t even want to go near.

They hadn’t told Teddy and Reggie yet. The whole thing was still too new for them. It could still fall apart at any moment. Bringing in children made it all…real. It made it solid. If it fell apart after that, if _they_ fell apart, it would hurt more than just Harry and Draco.

It took two weeks of their routine before they discovered the boys had figured it out.

Teddy’s appearance was like a hit to the chest at dinner that night. He was a beautifully balanced mix of Harry and Draco. He had the same messy black hair Harry had spent his life struggling with, the color standing out against a pale complexion that came from Draco. His eyes were silver, the color a match to Draco’s. He smiled at Harry, frozen in the doorway, displaying the pointed canines that hinted at his heritage.

The little Metamorphmagus wasn’t a perfect blending of the two of them. There were hints of his real father mixed in. There were touches of sandy blond running through his raven hair. His light eyes, so stark when paired with his hair, had a ring of amber-gold around the outer edge, a color that only really belonged to werewolf blood.

Still the effect was…somewhat unsettling. Suddenly Harry was confronted with a vision of what a child of his and Draco’s could look like. He could only imagine what was running through Draco’s head. Harry had already dealt with the shock of having a child, of looking into a tiny baby’s eyes and realizing they were _his_. Draco hadn’t.

“That’s…that’s a new look, Teddy,” Draco choked out beside him.

“I like it,” Teddy answered. “Now I look like both my dads.”

“What?” Harry breathed. Draco gripped his hand tightly.

“We saw you kissing Draco yesterday, Daddy,” Reggie supplied. “Is he gonna be part of our family now?”

Draco froze beside him, not even breathing.

“I hope so, boys,” Harry told them seriously. He turned to look Draco in the eye. “I really hope so.”

* * *

 

Draco nearly dropped something the first time Reggie called him Father. He hadn’t even said anything important, but the name struck at his heart.

“Father, where’s my other shoe?”

Reggie just stared at him in confusion while he flapped his mouth before eventually choking out an answer.

When the boy left, Draco pressed a hand to his hammering heart. He didn’t understand why a name had affected him so much. He’d carried many names in his life: Dragon, Ice Prince of Slytherin, git, Ferret, Death Eater scum. Love.

Now Father.

He was still lost to the world when Harry came home a short time later.

“Draco? What’s wrong?” He looked up into worried emerald eyes.

“He called me Father,” he whispered. Harry wrapped his arms around him, tucking his chin over his shoulder.

“Oh, Draco,” he murmured. “Do you mind? I can ask them to stop if you-“ Draco slapped a hand over his mouth to shut him up.

“Don’t you dare. I love it.”

Then he kissed Harry hard and deep, showing him just how much he loved being a part of the family. How much he loved being ‘Father.’ How much he loved Harry.

And when Harry broke away gasping, Draco could see in his eyes he understood.

That night, they sat in front of the fire, toasting Draco’s acceptance together.

“Stay with me tonight?” he asked tentatively as the embers burned low. He felt Harry tense, wrapped around each other as they were. The haunted look was back in his eyes.

“It’s alright, I was just hoping-“ Draco hurried to cover his mistake. Harry kissed him before he could finish.

“I understand,” he said softly. “It’s…not easy for me. I’ll wake you up with my nightmares,” he warned.

“I know,” Draco replied. “I don’t care. I want you to be there when I wake up, even if you’re screaming.”

Harry leaned his forehead into Draco’s temple. The room was silent except for the occasional pop from the coals. Gradually, the tension drained out of him.

“Alright,” he whispered into Draco’s skin. “I’ll stay.”

Draco drifted off to sleep to the sound of Harry’s heartbeat under his ear, wrapped in his arms, his fingers twisted lightly in Harry’s shirt.


	12. Chapter 12

The pained cry and struggling woke Draco. He gripped the shoulders of the man beneath him, trying to wake him and hold him still at the same time.

“Harry. Harry!”

Draco found himself on his back faster than he could blink, Harry sitting across his chest and pressing thumbs into his throat, fingers touching around the back of his neck. With a single jerk of his hands, he could easily snap Draco’s neck. Draco's eyes widened but he didn’t struggle, sensing it would only make things worse. He could only wait for the haze of dreams to disappear from those green eyes.

He took a small moment to be thankful for the foresight they’d had to leave all the knives in Harry’s office. He was sure he’d have found one buried in the flesh beneath his jaw if Harry had had one at hand.

“Draco?” Harry asked in a small voice. The pressure on his throat vanished and he raised a hand to smooth away the remaining pain. Draco coughed. Harry was out of bed in the next second, pacing the dark room.

“I’m sorry, Draco, I didn’t know-“

“Harry, it’s alright,” Draco soothed, tugging him back with both hands. “You warned me. It’s alright. It’ll take more than a second’s pressure to kill me, after all.” Harry let out a choked sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob and buried his face in Draco’s neck.

“I hate the dreams,” he whispered. Draco ran a hand up and down his back.

“Have you tried Dreamless Sleep potion?” Harry chuckled dryly.

“I built up a tolerance in fourth year. Got addicted by fifth year. The Order put me through detox over the summer after that. Withdrawal’s a bitch.”

That was…frankly kind of impressive. Dreamless Sleep was a very potent potion. To have to increase the dosage enough to build up a tolerance meant Harry’s dreams must be absolutely _terrifying_.

There really was nothing to do but suffer through it if even Dreamless Sleep was out.

“I’m sorry,” Draco told him.

“Everyone is,” Harry replied in a weary voice. “It doesn’t ever change anything.”

He had a point. Potter hadn’t led an easy life by anyone’s standards. Compared to Harry’s past, Draco had been an utterly spoiled prince, even after he had been bound to the Dark Lord.

Eventually, Harry’s breathing slowed and he stopped shaking. They both drifted off to sleep again.

* * *

 

Harry looked critically at his reflection in the mirror, adjusting his lightweight linen robes self-consciously. He doubted he would ever get used to having to _look_ like a noble in addition to _being_ one. He reached for his cufflinks, only to have Draco hold them in an outstretched hand.

“Don’t you look formal for a Saturday,” he said, surveying Harry’s deep green and slate grey ensemble carefully. Harry could hear the question hidden in his statement. He never worked on the weekends. _Where are you going?_

“I’m visiting a few people today. Ron and Hermione, Molly and Arthur, Neville,” he listed off before hesitantly adding the last name, “your mother.”

“My mother?” Draco gave him a shocked look. “Why?”

“You’ve been here over two months now. Your mother, who risked death or worse from Voldemort just to know if you were alright, you know, might want to hear how things are going.” He looked away from silver eyes, focusing intently on putting on his cufflinks. “You aren’t allowed to send her any letters, but I can visit her. I hope you don’t mind…”

Draco kissed him.

“You idiot,” he breathed. “Of course I don’t mind you visiting my poor, lonely mother when I can’t. I just can’t imagine why you would bother.”

“Because I-“ Harry choked on the words, unable to get them past his throat. It turned out he didn’t need to.

From the way Draco kissed him, Harry knew he understood.

“Are you going to tell her about…” _About this? About us?_

“Do you want me to?” A long pause while Draco thought.

“Yes. She should know that I’m happy.”

* * *

 

“Lord Potter, I must confess I hadn’t expected to see you here.” Narcissa always looked like the picture-perfect Lady, even when no one was around to see, and he admired that about her. He bent to kiss her knuckles, as tradition required.

“Please, call me Harry, Lady Malfoy,” he murmured. “I was out visiting today and felt the desire for the company of a beautiful, refined lady.” He accepted the tea she offered him.

“Then you must call me Narcissa.” Harry inclined his head in acceptance. “I hope you don’t feel visiting me to be an obligation, Harry,” she said at a moment. “You have done so much for my family, please don’t feel you still owe us a debt.”

“Narcissa,” Harry settled his teacup in the saucer and fixed her with an earnest gaze. “I hope to be able to count you as my friend, not an obligation or someone I owe a debt. I have come to enjoy Draco’s company and trust him with some of my greatest secrets. He has told me himself that he is happy in my home, as I am sure he will tell you when _we_ visit for Christmas.” He waited a moment for understanding to appear in her eyes. She smiled softly when she realized his message.

“Oh, Harry, that will be wonderful.” She took his hand gently in hers. “It’s been many years since I have seen my son truly happy. Ever since the Dark Lord returned, his smiles have always been somewhat forced. It will be lovely to see him smile like he used to.”

Harry let the tension drain away from his body. He would never admit it to Draco, but he had been worried Narcissa wouldn’t accept them. It was part of the reason he wanted to tell her now, instead of waiting for Draco to be there at Christmas. If she rejected him, it would hurt Draco deeply. The only question now was how his father would react. Christmas would be the earliest he could be told.

“Thank you, Narcissa,” he said softly. “I hope…I hope your husband can see things the way you do.”

“Of course he will,” she promised. “Lucius loves Draco beyond anything else. He is no longer of the same opinion of you after your actions at our trial, he will not react as you expect him to, Harry.”

They passed the remainder of the afternoon with Narcissa leading Harry gently by the arm through the gardens that had become her pet project.

* * *

 

Draco poured out a glass of Firewhiskey as Harry slumped into one of the large armchairs. He’d shed his outer robe as soon as possible, leaving him in grey slacks and a cream-colored button up. He’d rolled up his sleeves and undone the first couple of buttons on the shirt.

“Busy day?” Draco asked lightly, handing over the Firewhiskey.

“Ta.” Harry took a large drink. “Nev was perfectly happy to see me. He kept dropping hints about a wedding, so I think he'll ask Luna to marry him soon, which is great for them. It was a bit strained at Molly and Arthur’s, but they always love hearing about Teddy. Ron and Hermione, well,” another sip of the liquor, “Got a door slammed in my face over there. They seem to think holding a grudge will be better for them in the long run.” Draco winced in sympathy.

“And my mother?” he asked after a moment.

“Narcissa and I spent a lovely afternoon looking over her garden project.” He looked up at Draco with a happy smile. “She sends her love and says she’s excited to see _us_ at Christmas.” Draco couldn’t help but smile back.

Harry down the rest of his drink and grabbed Draco’s hand, tugging the blond into his lap in the oversized chair. He wrapped his hands securely around his waist, and Draco put his arms around Harry’s shoulders.

“Who would have thought we’d end up like this?” he whispered, leaning in to kiss him.

Draco responded eagerly, and the kiss heated up quickly. Harry’s hands tightened on his hips, pulling him in closer. The movement brought their groins flush together, making Draco gasp at the contact. Harry’s lips moved to nibble at his ear.

“Can I stay with you again tonight?” he asked in a low, husky voice, rolling his hips up into Draco’s. Draco moaned and nodded, and Harry apparated them away to his room.

Draco let himself be pushed back against the bed. Harry popped open a few buttons on his shirt, then gave up and slid it over his head instead. He traced hands down Draco’s bare chest and stomach, following fingers with lips and teeth and tongue. He paused at the waistband of his slacks, looking up to meet his eyes. Emerald green formed a barely-visible ring around pupils blown wide with lust.

“Do you mind?”

“Don’t you dare stop now,” Draco ordered breathlessly. He groaned as Harry rid him of slacks and pants in one movement, exposing him to the cool air.

* * *

 

Harry stared at Draco for a moment, laid out in all his glory. He was flushed and panting, fine blond hair wild from Harry running fingers through it.

He was a little lost at what to do next. Theo might have been his first love, but their situation hadn’t really been…ideal. Harry had never gone further than kissing.

He ran the tip of his tongue along the vein, trying to keep himself from gagging as Draco’s hips bucked up. He pressed them into the bed with one hand before taking him in his mouth and swallowing him down as far as possible.

Draco made the most beautiful noises, moaning and crying out as Harry bobbed his head. His own erection strained at his zip, and Harry shoved his hand into his pants to stroke himself.

He moaned around Draco. The blond stuttered out a warning just before his mouth was flooded and he tried to swallow it all without choking at the awkward angle. Harry followed after a few more strokes.

Harry sat back on his heels, grimacing at the wet feeling. Draco looked up at him, face still flushed and breathing hard. He could see everything he wanted to say in those sparkling silver eyes.

“I’m going to take a shower.” Draco’s face fell ever so slightly. Harry kissed him lightly and added, “Wouldn’t want to get your bed all sticky.”

Draco fell asleep almost as soon as he had draped across Harry’s chest, but Harry stayed awake awhile longer, just watching his lover sleep. He noticed the glint of the Ministry tracking cuff on the wrist resting near his shoulder. He traced a thumb over the thin, warm metal, wondering at all the things that had brought them to that moment.

Privately, he thought about replacing the cuff with a different bit of metal in two years’ time. Like a ring.


	13. Chapter 13

Harry jerked awake with a gasp.

It was the first time in three years he woke without screaming and thrashing. He stared up at the ceiling in the dark, willing his heartbeat to slow. Apparently he hadn’t jerked around much if he hadn’t woken Draco.

He couldn’t shake the feeling it had something to do with the blond sleeping peacefully across his chest. He pressed his lips into Draco’s hair, whispering the words he’d found so hard to say the day before.

“I love you.”

Draco snuffled in his sleep, his lips twitching into a fleeting smile. Harry let the world of sleep claim him again.

When Harry woke again, it was to warm September sunlight and an empty bed. The sound of running water told him Draco was in the shower in the adjoining bathroom. He rolled out of bed and lumbered up the stairs to his room to dress and retrieve knives and wand, both things he didn’t want nearby when he shared a bed with Draco. It would be too easy to kill him while lost in a night terror.

The past two nights in Draco’s bed had been wonderful and unsettling in the extreme. Harry hadn’t been without a knife (besides in the shower) since the night Theo died, three years ago. Even in his own house, barefoot and dressed in Muggle clothes, he kept the blade strapped to his left bicep, his wand holstered to his right forearm. He slept with the wand holster still on, knife clutched in his left hand.

He was probably lucky he hadn’t stabbed himself when he jerked around in his sleep.

He picked out a short sleeved t-shirt to wear, something he hadn’t worn since Draco had moved in. It left his forearms bare, displaying his puncture scars from Severus’s bite, his snake familiar, and his beating heart tattoo. The bottom half of the knife stuck out from beneath his sleeve.

After breakfast, where Draco pointedly did not ask about his clothing or accessories, he padded barefoot upstairs to the family room above the library. It had been a while since he had spoken to Walburga and Orion. Orion would have some insight into gathering support from the traditionalists on the Wizengamot. Walburga would be interested in hearing about his new relationship with Draco and how well Teddy and Reggie had taken him. If the woman wasn’t a portrait she’d spoil her grandson rotten.

* * *

 

That afternoon found Harry swirling a glass of Firewhiskey in his hand, a conflicted expression on his face. He was lost in his thoughts, not even noticing as Draco approached until he crouched to meet Harry’s gaze as he sat.

“What happened?” Harry frowned.

“Walburga told me where she hid Regulus’s portrait.”

Oh.

Draco understood immediately. Regulus Black was one of Reggie’s fathers, the man Harry had named him after. Reggie had a chance to meet another of his fathers, possibly the only one other than Harry he could talk to. With Regulus able to speak to his son, Harry didn’t have to raise the boy completely on his own.

So why the conflicted face?

“He doesn’t know,” Harry murmured, taking a drink. “He died before they even took his blood. He has no idea what they did or about Reggie.”

Oh.

“What if he doesn’t want to see him?” Harry asked in a small voice. Draco’s heart broke for the man’s worry over his son. “What if he thinks Reggie is some kind of monster?”

“Then he misses out on the chance to know a wonderful, magical little boy,” Draco answered. “Don’t jump to conclusions before you talk to him, Potter.” He plucked the half-empty glass out of his hand. “You can’t hide from him just because of some what-ifs. Where’s that famous Gryffindork recklessness?” Harry quirked a half-hearted grin at him and heaved himself up out of the chair.

“I think you mean ‘bravery and courage,’” he tossed over his shoulder as he made his way out of the sitting room.

Draco sat in the empty chair and downed the rest of the Firewhiskey in a single swallow.

* * *

 

Regulus Black stared at him for a long time after Harry finished telling his story. Harry took the moment to study him, trying to find what Reggie had gotten from this father.

Reggie had the same easy good looks his brother Sirius had had. He had bright, vivid blue eyes that were wide with shock. His dark hair was messy and slightly long, but it was a straight as Harry’s. Reggie’s wild curls must have come from Riddle, then.

“I have…a son?” he managed after a moment. Harry had a fleeting worry about whether magical portraits could faint. “With you and the Dark Lord, created by Old magic?”

“He’s three years old now,” Harry said in a gentle voice. “He’s a smart boy, but quiet, and he’s so powerful. Sometimes I can feel his magic running across his skin.”

“What’s his name?” Regulus finally asked, gripping his painted chair with white knuckles.

“Regulus Harridan Gaunt Potter.” A gentle smile stretched across the portrait’s face.

“You named him after me. Little Regulus.”

“Reggie usually,” Harry informed him, grinning.

“Amazing,” Regulus breathed, relaxing back in his chair. “All of it, mind you, not just…Reggie,” he added with an all-encompassing hand gesture. “You especially. Dealing with two sons on your own, going through…that. Killing the Dark Lord.” Harry sat down in the chair facing the framed painting.

“I found your locket in the cave, you know.” He shivered at the memory of the damp cave, the darkness, the cold, wet hands of the Inferi dragging at him. “Kreacher couldn’t destroy the Horcrux. It ended up in the hands of Ministry worker who thought the S stood for Selwyn.” Regulus snorted but had his eyes glued to Harry as he spoke. “We had to break into the Ministry to get it. Three of us, seventeen years old and not even out of school, on the run from Voldemort, snuck into the Ministry of Magic. Then when we had it, we couldn’t even destroy it. We took turns wearing it for a while. It was absolute hell. Damn thing tried to kill me twice.”

He pulled down the collar of his shirt just enough to show Regulus the oval-shaped mark where Hermione had removed the Horcrux from his skin with a Severing Charm after the disastrous visit to Godric’s Hollow.

“I gave Kreacher the fake locket. He cried. I think that’s what made him finally accept me as his master.” He smirked. “Made him stop muttering insults, too, the mad little bugger.”

Regulus all but roared with laughter.

They talked for hours, trading stories about school. Regulus had been a Slytherin while Lucius Malfoy was a Prefect, while the Marauders had been at the height of their pranking. He always enjoyed their little shows. Harry told him about Fred and George Weasley, about people bursting into canaries, about fireworks that spelled rude words, about a swamp that filled a hallway.

They told of the bad times, too. Regulus spoke of his Initiation, his Marking. Of following Voldemort to the cave to place the Horcrux. Of going back to retrieve it. Harry told of his year on the run, finishing Regulus’s work. Of dueling Voldemort in the courtyard of Hogwarts, of killing him. Of the things that happened the two times he visited the graveyard in Little Hangleton: once during the Triwizard Tournament in his fourth year, and once after the war, the night Reggie was born.

The sun set while they spoke.

“I should go,” Harry said eventually. “It’s late. Kreacher always waits dinner for me.” Regulus nodded, but he called his name as he reached the door.

“Do you think…could I see little Reggie sometime?” he looked so lost and scared, so confused. It warmed Harry’s heart to know that he wouldn’t reject his son.

“Of course.”

* * *

 

Draco pretended the bed didn’t feel too empty and cold. He’d only spent two nights with Harry, for Merlin’s sake, he wasn’t allowed to be hopelessly dependent on him! He’d slept alone for years. Those two nights were the anomaly, not the norm. He shouldn’t have any problems getting to sleep!

But nothing he told himself made the bed feel less empty.

He understood why Harry wasn’t there, even if he didn’t like it. Harry had spent the afternoon pouring out his history to the portrait of Regulus Black. He’d opened old wounds, poked healing bruises. His mind would be full of memories he usually shied away from.

His nightmares were going to be bad. Bad enough that he needed to sleep alone. For Draco’s safety.

Frustrated with himself, Draco rolled out of bed. He headed for the kitchen. Maybe a cup of tea would help him sleep. Or a glass of Firewhiskey. Either way, he needed something warm to drink.

Kreacher was happy to make him a cup of milky tea, but Draco still couldn’t settle his mind. The ancient elf told him stories of raising the previous generation of Blacks. Apparently his mother had been quite the little troublemaker before she went to school. Draco was laughing a Kreacher’s description of the mess his mother had made the one time she threw a tantrum in the kitchen when they felt it.

It was a burst of magic, so strong it made the china in the cabinets rattle. It must have shattered the silencing charms, since what followed was the most terrifying, blood-chilling scream Draco had ever heard.

“Master Harry!” cried the elf, popping away. Draco swore and pushed back from the table. His tea fell unnoticed to the floor as he ran for the stairs.

On the fourth floor, three doors slammed shut and there was a burst of power as emergency wards sealed them. Draco realized that if he’d been in bed he would have been trapped in his room behind the wards. He took the stairs two at a time to Harry’s room and threw open the door, the spells around it having melted away under their master’s uncontrolled magic.

Inside there was a massive bed, trimmed with black velvet hangings that hadn’t been touched. In the momentary silence, Draco whirled around, trying to find his lover. Waves of raw power crashed over him, making his hair stand on end and his teeth ache. It seemed to come from behind a small, oddly shaped door, like the door to a cupboard that would fit in the space beneath a staircase. Why on earth would Potter be behind something like that?

The next scream gave him barely enough warning to duck before the door was blasted apart. Setting the questions aside, Draco gritted his teeth and rushed for the tiny space behind the door where he could see Harry thrashing and screaming.

He remembered to search for Harry’s wand and any knives, tossing them into other room before he reached for the screaming man.

“HARRY!”

He must have missed the knife in his hand, he thought as he gasped. The one that Harry had plunged into his stomach when Draco grabbed him. He pressed his hands to the whole in his abdomen, watching with a sort of detached fascination as blood bubbled up between his fingers. He heard a choked sob in the background.

“…Draco…?”

Harry’s eyes had cleared of their haze of nightmares. They were wide with horror and guilt, sparkling with tears.

“Oh, Merlin, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t-“ he babbled, choking back sobs. His hands joined Draco’s, already painted with red. Blood was pooling around them, soaking into the floor of the tiny room with the crooked ceiling. “I’m so sorry, Draco, just don’t- just stay with me. Please, stay with me, Draco, you can’t go. I love you, Draco, you can’t die! I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry!”

Draco wondered if he’d heard Harry right when he said he loved him.

Then the blackness took him, and he didn’t hear any more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I'm sorry! It wasn't the original plan, it just happened!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Short but powerful. Harry is a bit like Lady MacBeth. And shame on you if you don't understand the reference. You uncultured heathen.
> 
> I still love you, though. Please comment.

Harry paced the waiting room at St Mungo’s restlessly. Back and forth, over and over, white walls, white ceiling, white carpet whizzed by. Healers and Aides dressed in starched white robes rushed past. The white light of the dawn sun rising in the windows warmed his face.

Harry couldn’t see any of it through the blood. Bright red, splashed across his vision, drowning out anything else. His hands, clean and dry, clenched and flexed reflexively by his sides, but all he could feel was the blood, seeping out of Draco’s body, oozing over his hands, staining his clothes and making huge sticky drying puddles on the floor. He could smell it, too, coppery and tangy. The memory of it stung his nostrils. It coated the back of his tongue like a thick film he couldn’t get rid of, no matter how many times he swallowed.

The Healers tried to talk to him, tried to push him into chairs and give him cups of tea and treat him for shock. He shook them all of to continue his mad pacing, brushing past them in his mindless, repetitive path. A few words they said trickled into his consciousness and bounced around his mind.

Critical.

Shock.

Arterial damage.

Unconscious.

Coma.

The rest of it was drowned out by Draco’s choked gasp when Harry buried his knife in him, the sound repeating endlessly in his ears.

Strong arms tugged on him, pulling him down a hallway and into an empty room. There was a rattling, choking noise echoing in his ears. The strong arms pulled him against a stocky body, sinking down to the floor.

“It’s okay, Harry. It’s okay, just let it out, you can cry here.”

Oh, that noise was him. He was letting out great noisy sobs. For the first time, he noticed tears running down his face. Something in his magic said he trusted the stocky man, so he pressed his head against the chest he wasn’t aware enough to recognize and cried.

* * *

 

It seemed like hours before his tears dried. He came back to himself slowly, feeling a hand running up and down his spine, hearing gentle words whispered into his hair. He saw a shiny burn on the top of one arm.

“Charlie?”

Charlie leaned back and gave him a gentle smile.

“Better?” No.

“How did you get here?”

“Draco’s tracker went off and the Aurors alerted Kingsley, who told Dad when he couldn’t get ahold of you. Mum Floo’d me, knew Malfoy and I got on alright.” His face turned cold. “The rest of them aren’t too bothered, though. Ron said…well.” Harry barely registered his words, still clutching his shirt like a lifeline.

“Charlie, I killed him,” he whispered.

“You didn’t kill him,” Charlie answered fiercely. Harry shook his head, panic rising.

“No, Charlie, I killed! I love him, and now he’s going to die.” He pushed back from the redhead, clutching his head between his hands, tucking his face into his knees. “Oh, Merlin, it’s just like Theo. I loved him and they killed him, they killed him because of me, and Draco’s going to die and I don’t know if he knows that I love him, oh Merlin, I-“

“Stop it.” Charlie’s voice was hard and stern, his hands insistent on Harry’s chin as he forced wild green eyes to meet calm blue. “Draco. Isn’t. Going. To. Die.” Truth shone in his eyes, sparking hope in Harry’s heart.

“Really?”

“Yes, really. He lost a lot of blood, and his guts weren’t in great shape, but you got him here on time. Do you hear me, Harry Potter? You didn’t kill him, he’s going to live.”

Relief was so sweet as it coursed through his veins. The tension left his body all at once, and he collapsed, boneless, to the floor. He vaguely registered Charlie clucking over him in an eerie imitation of his mother as kind, gentle sleep took him.

* * *

 

Harry had barely moved from the armchair in Draco’s room since he woke up there, three days ago. There was no reason to. The note he’d found in his pocket informed him that Charlie was at Grimmauld Place taking care of the boys, and the staff was afraid to even try to chase out the great Lord Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Savior of the Wizarding World

Draco didn’t look much better than he had three days ago. He’d gained a little color, but not enough to make him look truly alive. When Harry had first seen him, his skin had looked grey, far beyond his usual pale complexion.

The comparison to an Inferius came to his mind without warning. He’d nearly broken down again on the spot.

His chest rose with even breaths, rising and falling hypnotically. Harry watched the gentle movement obsessively, watched his eyelids flicker, telling himself that Draco wasn’t dead, it was only a coma.

 _Only_ a coma.

_Sometimes comas don’t end._

Harry shook away the thoughts. He spoke to Draco sometimes, something the Healers told him to do. He told him about watching him across the Great Hall at meals, about how exciting it was to play against him in the Interhouse Quidditch Cup, about how he’d watched Draco’s steps on the Marauder’s Map in sixth year until he could find his name before anyone else’s, about when he’d stumbled upon Draco crying in the bathroom and how for _just a moment_ he’d thought it was something else, something far more embarrassing, more interesting.

“Harry,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. Harry didn’t bother to look up.

“I’m not going to sleep, not even if you nag me.” Charlie huffed but he didn’t fight it. Harry hadn’t gotten more than twenty minutes of sleep at a time since they’d come to Mungo’s. He was afraid of the nightmares. He didn’t need to be screaming and jerking in his sleep in the hospital, trying to kill anyone who touched him. They’d lock him away upstairs in the Janus Thickney Ward, give him a nice soft bed right next to Gilderoy Lockhart.

“Well, you look like shit, Lord Potter.” That brought a faint smile to his lips. “No, it’s…Lady Malfoy.” Harry’s head snapped up, pining Charlie with a keen gaze.

“What about Narcissa?” he asked sharply.

“You should go see her,” Charlie suggested. “Nobody’s been to see her since Kingsley told her her only son was admitted to the Trauma Ward at Mungo’s. She’s probably panicking.”

Harry slumped back. Charlie had a point, but he wished he didn’t have to be the one to do it. He didn’t know if he could face the kind woman after her son had nearly died in his arms, at his hands.

* * *

 

The sheathed knife was a heavy weight in his hand. Harry had gone back to Number Twelve to put on clean clothes before he went to Malfoy Manor, but for three years getting dressed had involved at least one blade strapped to his body.

He could barely stand to look at the thing. He was disgusted with himself for even thinking about carrying it. He could still see the blood on his hands, smell it in the air of his tiny cupboard, hear the sound Draco made when Harry nearly killed him-

But.

But he couldn’t make himself leave the house without one. He hadn’t had one on him in Mungo’s, and he’d felt it every moment. It was like a phantom pain, an uncomfortable feeling in his stomach, an itch he couldn’t scratch that slowly drove him mad, and that was in a place where he knew no one would attack him.

He didn’t have such safe memories of Malfoy Manor.

Hating himself, he strapped the blade to his arm, then followed it with the ones at his ribs and in his boots. Only five blades anymore. He’d destroyed the last one, the one he kept on the inside of his thigh. That was the blade he usually slept with.

He couldn’t quite seem to get the bloodstains off of it.

* * *

 

Harry Potter, Defeater of the Dark Lord Voldemort, the Chosen One, dithered shamelessly on the front steps of Malfoy Manor.

What did he say to Narcissa? Would she accept him still? Would she even let him into the house? Would she still approve of his presence in her only child’s life, after he’d nearly killed him?

The door opened before he could come to anything approaching a conclusion. Narcissa Malfoy stepped through.

The usually-impeccable Lady Malfoy had dark circles under her eyes, just like he did. Her hair hung loose and wavy, not carefully done up like Harry had always seen. She was pale, but her eyes were sharp as they looked him over, revealing nothing of her mind.

Then she hugged him.

“Oh, Harry.” There was no blame or anger in her voice, only relief and commiseration. He felt tears drip onto his collar and he allowed his head to rest on her delicate shoulder, letting tears of his own fall.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Hello. I'm a sadist, and I enjoy making people cry with overwhelming emotion sometimes.
> 
>  
> 
> PS- Sometimes I make myself cry when I'm writing it. I'm not totally heartless.
> 
> PPS-Don't forget to check out what Draco dreamed! It's called Morpheus's Realm, and it is now a part of the Building a Home series.

Ten days. Other than the day he went to visit Narcissa, Harry hadn’t left the chair in Draco’s room for ten days. The Healers started to bring him meals, recognizing that he wouldn’t leave until Draco could. He hadn’t slept more than five hours altogether, twenty minutes or less at a time.

Charlie came by every day to assure him that the boys were fine, to tell him people were worried about him. Harry scoffed. He nearly kills the man he loves, puts him in a coma, and people are worried about him.

Kingsley visited once, to say the requisite sad words. He personally brought Narcissa to spend a day at her son’s beside. She talked for hours, telling stories about Draco as a child, but there was no reaction. She promised Harry again before she left that she didn’t blame him.

It was ten days of pure misery. A week and a half of raw emotional pain. As each day dragged into the next, Harry began to despair that Draco would wake at all. He didn’t go to the Ministry, didn’t answer his mail, didn’t make any firecalls. Charlie said Ginny and Ron were screeching about Draco having some spell over him, but he ignored the dragonologist. He hardly ever tore his eyes from the gentle rise and fall of his chest or the flicker of his closed eyes.

Through it all, Harry talked. He told stories about school, talked about his opinions on the Ministry, read articles in the paper aloud. He wore his voice out to a hoarse rasp, just talking to Draco.

As the sun set on the tenth day, he was talking about something pointless that had flitted through his mind when he felt Draco’s hand twitch. He kept talking, hoping beyond hope it was what he thought, that it wasn’t just a random muscle movement.

“I felt that, Draco. You moved. C’mon, I know you can hear me. Please, just wake up. I need to tell you how sorry I am and I need to make sure you know that I love you because the last person I loved died before I could tell him, and I need to hear you make some snarky comment about me bonding with your mother by both of us crying our eyes out like first-year girls.” He was rambling now, trying to hold back tears. Draco’s forehead wrinkled, his face screwed up, eyes pinched like he was in pain. Was he in pain? The Healers said his body was healed, that he would wake up any moment. “Please, Draco, just wake up!” he sobbed.

Slowly, so slowly, lids peeled back over the silver eyes Harry longed to see. He blinked and squinted.

“Harry?” His voice was rough and faint, but it was there. He was really awake, not just a false alarm the Healers had warned might happen. Relief flooded through his veins and he nearly collapsed, leaning forward to press his lips to Draco’s hand where it lay on the covers.

“Where am I?” Draco peered around the little private room in confusion before looking back at Harry. _Here goes_ , he thought, swallowing hard.

“St. Mungo’s. You tried to wake me up during a nightmare, and I-“ _Stabbed you. Almost killed you_. He couldn’t force the words past the lump in his throat.

“Harry, do you love me?” Draco’s voice was soft, in a scared way this time. He couldn’t meet Harry’s eyes, looking instead at their joined hands on the covers.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Yes, Draco, I love you.”

Draco smiled, relaxing shoulders Harry hadn’t realized had tensed. He let out a sigh of pure relief.

“Not a dream,” he murmured to himself.

“What?” Silver eyes met green and flicked away again.

“I…dreamed,” he answered vaguely. “How long?”

“Ten days.”

* * *

 

Ten days? He’d slept for ten days? Was that even possible?

“How?” Harry shifted uncomfortably, dropping his eyes to the floor.

“You tried to wake me, but I still had a knife, and I-“ he seemed to choke on the words for a moment, then they all rushed out. “I didn’t realize what I was doing and I stabbed you and you were dying and I’m so sorry!”

Oh. He remembered bits and pieces, waves of power and a tiny room and cold steel in his warm body with a sudden pain that was bright and sharp. Tears and rushed words and more blood than he’d ever seen at one time. That one hadn’t been a dream, then. His free hand drifted up to his stomach. Suddenly he needed to see it, to prove that it had been real, that everything that came after had only been a dream. He shoved the covers away, pulling up his shirt to expose the mark.

Stark against the pale skin of his stomach was a harsh red line, raised and jagged at one end. He traced it gently with one finger. Harry let out a sob.

“Oh, Merlin, I’ve scarred you again.” Harry’s tanned fingers hovered just above the new mark, then drifted up to trace the zigzag scars that were his reminder of bleeding out on a bathroom floor in the middle of his sixth year.

Harry yanked his hand back like it was burned. He stood, haunted eyes on the far wall, both looking at it and through it to something far away and long gone.

“I need to tell the Healer you’re awake,” he said in a hollow voice, then he was gone, leaving Draco to stare at the door in confusion.

_Did I do something wrong?_

* * *

 

“It wasn’t enough that I cut him open when we were still enemies in school, now I’ve done while I was supposed to be his _guardian_ , in my own house!” Harry threw himself in the dusty chair. “Reg, what am I going to do?”

After a short talk with the Healer, Harry found he couldn’t handle going back in to face Draco, not after seeing all the scars he had created marring that pale skin. He fled to the old room full of abandoned furniture instead, to talk to Regulus’s portrait. Since his out-pouring of personal history on his first visit, Reg was the only one who knew all of Harry’s secrets

Regulus gave him a searching look. Then he heaved a sigh.

“You’re going to go back to him and love him and let him make the decision.”

“But-“ Harry began, but the portrait cut him off.

“No, Harry, listen to me. You’re so terrified of turning him into another Theo that your fear has blinded you to the fact that you’re doing something much worse. This isn’t the same situation, understand?”

“I just-“ Harry choked, “I just can’t let anyone else die.” He sounded so weak, so young.

“Oh, Harry,” Regulus whispered. “Harry Potter, ever the hero. They trained you well, didn’t they? You didn’t mean to do it, but if you don’t go back to him, he’ll think you did. He’ll think you tried to kill him on purpose and you rejected him because he didn’t die. Or maybe he won’t, and he’ll just believe you don’t want him anymore because he’s weak or broken.”

“But I don’t think any of that…”

“I know, Harry,” Reg sighed. “I know, but _he_ doesn’t. Go to him, make sure he knows.”

Harry was silent for many minutes, thinking.

* * *

 

Draco was afraid to fall asleep again. Rationally, he knew he wouldn’t slip back into a coma now that he was out of it. He would only sleep a few hours. The Healer said he needed it, despite the fact that he had just spent the past ten days asleep. His body was still recovering, they said. The knife had opened the wall of his gut, something even magic could only heal so fast. He was bone-tired and still weak, and his eyelids were growing heavy.

Yet he was still afraid. If he slept, he would dream again. Morpheus had not been kind to him on his last visit to the realm of dreams. Rejected, spurned, scorned by the man he loved a dozen ways in a dozen different lives. He could only recall bits and pieces of his long dream, but they were all painful.

So he stared at the ceiling as the sun rose, trying not to even blink. A new day was dawning outside. The Healers were going to let him out that morning. Since he wasn’t comatose anymore, there wasn’t anything they could do for him. He would have to recover his strength and energy at home.

In Harry’s home.

He hadn’t seen the Lord since he all but ran away, just minutes after Draco opened his eyes. It hurt, reminding him of his dream, all the times those lips he longed to kiss had spit out his last name like an explitive. He hadn’t even managed to get a good look at him, to see if his ten days’ absence had wrought a change on that face. Snatches of their conversation echoed in his ears.

_Harry, do you love me?_

He had to know, he had to make sure it wasn’t just another dream. The possibility that Harry would mock him in his hospital bed, laugh at him or scorn him, spit on his weakness, had terrified him. The answer had washed his fear away.

_Yes, Draco, I love you._

He had a faint memory, full of bright pain and cold metal and surprise and the smell of blood, of Harry saying it, tears running down his face, but that was nothing compared to hearing it again.

Then Harry had run, and the fear had come back, and now he was alone in a hospital room bathed in the yellow-white light of the rising sun with a scar across his stomach and no one to hold his hand while he slept.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry dithered again, this time just on the other side of the hospital room door. His mind attempted to distract him, reflecting that he really should stop dithering. Shameful habit, dithering.

_Now I sound like Draco._

That thought broke through his distraction, reminding him of why he was there, hesitating outside a room in St. Mungo’s. Draco, it all came back to Draco. Harry set his shoulders and pushed open the door.

Draco lay awake, staring at the ceiling with haunted eyes. His head snapped toward Harry as the door fell shut with a faint click. A smile spread across his face, then faltered a bit.

“You came back.” It sounded more like a question than a statement, and a scared one at that. Harry couldn’t take it. He crossed to the bed in two steps, falling to his knees and taking Draco’s hand in both of his.

“Yes, of course,” he whispered, pressing the hand to his lips. “I’m so sorry I left like that. I was…I was scared, so scared, and I had to talk to Regulus, but I’m back, and I’m not leaving until I can take you with me, understand?”

Draco reached his free hand across to cup Harry’s cheek. When Harry met his eyes, the fear was gone, replaced by a joy that he didn’t understand but was nonetheless happy to see.

“Of course,” Draco smiled. “I love you, Harry.” Harry pressed the hand to his lips again, closing his eyes tightly to hold back tears.

“I love you, too. So, so much.”

“Will you stay with me while I sleep?” Draco asked tentatively. Harry could understand his fear of unconsciousness, of slipping back into a coma, maybe for good.

“Of course,” he answered. “Do you want me to do anything?”

“Will you hold me?” Draco blushed a bit, and Harry realized how alive it made him look, that touch of pink.

 _Forever_ , he thought, shucking his outer robe to climb into the bed next to Draco, wrapping his arms around the man’s waist. _I’ll hold you for forever._

There, safe in the comfort of each other’s arms, both men finally allowed gentle sleep to claim them.

* * *

 

When Draco woke again, Harry was sitting on the edge of the tiny hospital bed, turned away with his head in his hands. He touched his back gently, letting Harry know he was awake.

“What’s wrong?”

“The dreams,” Harry answered in a voice filled with pain. “They never end. I can never stop watching it.”

“Watching what?”

“People dying in the War. You bleeding. Theo dying, or the look in his eyes when they-“ He cut off, the muscles in his back rigid with stress. Then he took a deep breath, blowing out hard. “I need to tell you about that. I can’t keep anymore secrets from you.”

“No, Harry, you don’t ne-“

“Yes, I do!” Draco’s hand began to tingle where it touched Harry and he snatched it back. Harry sighed. “I’m sorry. But I do have to tell you. I can’t make the same mistakes I made before.”

Harry scooted back onto the bed to lay down next to Draco. Draco arranged them so he lay partway across Harry’s chest with his arms around his waist.

“Then tell me everything,” he whispered. “I won’t say anything. I’ll just be here and listen,” he promised. He felt Harry take another deep breath, chest rising, then he began.

Draco listened with increasing horror and sadness. He knew Harry’s story wouldn’t have a happy ending, but he wasn’t expecting this, this tale of torture and madness and a silence more defiant than any words.

He felt a brief flash of jealousy any time Harry spoke of Theo, but it was always tempered by empathy for the pain and hopelessness Harry must have felt. The man who had seemed so strong could hardly make it through the telling of Theo’s death, openly crying as he choked the words out.

Draco forgave Harry for all the secrets he kept, in the end. Knowing what he did now, he knew how the world would react if the story got out. Harry had kept secrets out of necessity, only trying to move on with his life.

* * *

 

Silence fell, heavy yet brittle, when Harry finished speaking. Draco didn’t look at him, staring at the wall instead. Harry freed a hand to wipe away his tears.

“I would say I’m sorry, but it sounds so…inadequate,” Draco said eventually. “Sorry can’t make it all untrue, so what’s the point of it, anyway?”

Harry smiled weakly, recognizing the paraphrasing of his own words.

“Will you show me the scars when we get home?” Draco asked.

“I’ll show you anything,” Harry answered. They were quiet again, but this silence was easier, a simple sharing of company between people who know there are no words that can be said without sounding false and hollow. Harry could finally relax, knowing that he wasn’t truly alone and that Draco wouldn’t turn away from him because of his past.

“Thank you for telling me,” Draco said eventually. Then he yawned. Harry chuckled quietly.

“Sleep, Draco. I’ll see about going home when you’re awake again.” Harry ran his free hand through fine silver-blond locks. Draco said nothing, only burrowing his face into the crook of Harry’s neck. His breathing slowed and very soon he was asleep.

Harry skimmed his fingertips across Draco’s back, dipping down to lightly touch the raised scar on his stomach.  He hated that scar, and he hated himself for causing it, and he hated the whole situation he had put them in.

But he didn’t hate that he had finally told Draco everything. He felt lighter, freer now. He didn’t have to hold anything back from Draco anymore. He didn’t have to hide his scars, worried that Draco might be disgusted by them or, worse, ask questions.

The Healer came in while Draco slept. She scowled as she looked at them, cuddled together with Harry running his fingers through Draco’s hair.

“Yes?” Harry asked with a cool look.

“He’s free to leave with you as soon as he’s awake.” Her scowl didn’t lift and she made no attempt to keep her voice quiet.

“Very well, thank you.” It was a clear dismissal. Harry didn’t care what other people thought privately about Draco, but he had no desire for them to spew their misinformed opinions to his face, especially around Draco. The Healer scowl deepened and she sniffed, but she turned and left nonetheless.

* * *

 

Draco eased himself onto the sitting room couch, still slightly sore. Charlie brought the boys in, and they rushed up to him, clutching at his hands and arms and legs, but carefully avoiding his stomach. They talked over and around each other, telling him what they had been doing for the past two weeks.

Harry sat down next to Draco, leaning into him and putting an arm around his shoulders. Charlie sat in the chair next to them, smiling and talking and laughing with Harry. Eventually, Winky came in to usher the overexcited boys out to the garden with promises of sunshine, leaving the three of them to talk.

“You two should visit the Burrow soon,” Charlie said bluntly. Harry frowned.

“Why?” Draco asked, curious despite himself.

“Mum’s worried. About the both of you,” he added, cutting Harry off when he opened his mouth to reply.

“Worried about…me?” Draco could hardly believe that he and Charlie got on, much less that the Weasley matriarch would fret over him while he was in St. Mungo’s.

“Yes, about you,” Charlie teased. “Mum’s not blind, she could tell you were important to Harry here already when he brought you over on his birthday.” Harry flushed pink.

“She told me he had never brought anyone over before,” Draco mused. Harry was now bright red and studying the far wall with an interest too deep to be true.

“I haven’t,” he murmured.

“Mum can’t ignore the way the rest of the family feels about you just because Harry’s with someone who isn’t Ginny. I like you, Teddy adores you, which makes Bill and Fleur like you, George has been talking about how you aren’t a half-bad bloke, even Dad can see that you aren’t your father.”

“But what about Ronald and Granger and Ginerva?” Harry huffed but didn’t say anything. Charlie frowned, frustrated with his younger siblings.

“Gin and Ron can’t move on from their school days, and Hermione, smart as she is, is a bigot with an irrational dislike of traditional purebloods.”

“She and I haven’t really gotten on since I claimed my titles,” Harry added softly. “Before you got here, we’d fight about that. Every week she had a new reason why I should get a ‘real’ job, like her and Ron.” He snorted. “Ron wouldn’t talk to me for weeks after I  
told him I wasn’t going into the Auror Academy with him, and Hermione wanted me to go into the Minister’s office as part of his staff and use my fame to work up the ladder. Neither of them realize the good I’m using my fame for in the Wizengamot, not that those stuffy old coots care much about my name.” Charlie snorted.

“So I’m not splitting you and your friends up?” Draco asked, needed the clarification. Selfish Slytherin he may be, but he had still felt a bit guilty being the cause of fighting amongst the Golden Trio.

“No. I started that three years ago, when I wouldn’t tell them anything except that I was going to put my effort into being a noble. If anything, you’re finally ending the fighting. If they can’t accept me and you, then maybe it really is time we parted ways.”

Harry’s tone was nonchalant in the extreme, but his arm was stiff around Draco’s shoulders, belying his sadness and stress at losing his first friends. Charlie got up and clapped him on the back.

“Good on you, mate. Maybe that’s just the push they need to finally grow up.”

“Thanks, Charlie,” Harry grinned, relaxing a bit. “Tell Molly I’ll- _we’ll_ stop by later this week.”

* * *

 

Harry and Draco went to bed early that night, still exhausted by their stay at St. Mungo’s. As they dressed for bed, Draco caught Harry’s wrist.

“Will you show me your scars now?”

Harry swallowed hard. There was a reason he wore a shirt when he was with Draco, though he didn’t when he slept alone. The scars were disgusting, even three years old. Yes, Draco knew about them now, but knowing and seeing were two different things.

Hesitantly, he pulled his shirt over his head, revealing old cuts and shiny burns crossing his chest and back. Standing there, next to Draco’s own pale beauty, he had never felt more disfigured. He closed his eyes, unwilling to see the revulsion he knew was coming in Draco’s eyes.

He jumped when he felt careful touches trace across his chest. Looking down, he watched as pale fingers slid across the smooth, burned flesh, patterned like the links of the chains it had come from.

“You aren’t ugly,” Draco whispered. Harry tried to force words past the lump of fear and doubt in his throat.

“No?”

“No.” Draco leaned in, kissing the scars, breathing his words across them. “You’re _strong_.”


	17. Chapter 17

Draco watched the sun rise, slung casually across Harry’s chest. He enjoyed the quiet mornings they’d been having in the few days since the return from St. Mungo’s. He traced gentle fingertips down Harry’s side, feeling the raised flesh of scars there. Cutting curses, Harry had told him.

Sometimes his nightmares featured imagined images from Harry’s tale of horror. They never lasted in the warm, golden light of the lazy mornings, another reason he loved them.

He scraped his fingernails lightly across the smooth patch of skin he felt, raising an eyebrow when Harry twitched and shifted.

“Are you ticklish, Potter?” he asked incredulously. Harry grimaced.

“I guess.” Then, quieter, “I didn’t know.”

Draco propped himself up on an elbow, hovering over Harry to get a better look at his face. Harry bit his lip and looked away, turning his eyes back to the window. Draco recognised his want not to talk about the subject. Not just yet, anyway. Draco would know sooner or later. No secrets between them, that was one of their rules now.

Instead he grinned and moved so he straddled Harry’s hips, placing his hands on the other man’s ribs.

“Well, I think we should find out,” he declared imperiously. Then he tickled Harry mercilessly. Harry struggled and thrashed and laughed until he was red in the face. Tears of mirth trickled down his cheeks when Draco finally allowed him to breathe again.

“Scared, Potter?” he asked loftily, giving an impish grin. Harry just smiled innocently back.

“You wish!” Then, in a single smooth, quick move, he flipped them. Now on his back, Draco reached for Harry’s sides, intent on tickling him until Draco had control again. Harry caught his wrists, pinning them to the bed above his head. He leaned forward until his nose was nearly touching Draco’s.

“Oh, now _this_ is interesting,” he said teasingly. “I wonder what we could do here.” Harry rolled his hips just slightly into Draco’s, making him groan. Suddenly Draco’s cock was much more interested in the proceedings.

“Harry,” Draco said, but he wasn’t sure if it was an order or a plea. He leaned up, trying to reach the other man’s mouth, but Harry stayed just out of range. “ _Harry_ ,” he tried again.

“Yes?” Harry rolled his hips again, harder. Draco gave up trying to kiss him, tipping his head back and groaning. “Is that what you what, Draco?” Another roll of the hips. Draco nodded, and Harry laughed. “Well, you only had to ask!”

He could feel Harry’s erection against his, hot and heavy and trapped in his sleep pants. He jerked his hips up, searching for more of that teasing friction. Harry ground down on him, making his eyes roll back in his head.

Lips descended onto his neck, licking, sucking, biting. Harry pulled both of his wrists into one hand, leaving the other free to push both their pants out of the way. Draco gasped when he felt Harry take them both in hand. He wanted to look down, to watch, but that would mean moving his head and losing that glorious feeling of teeth and suction just below his jaw.

He arched and cried out as Harry stroked them roughly, running his thumb across the head of his cock. He could feel his release coiling low in his belly. Harry abandoned his neck, moaning and breathing hotly across the wet skin.

Then Draco was over the edge, arching his back again as he called Harry’s name, his eyes rolling back. Harry followed quickly, his hips jerking and Draco’s name on his lips.

* * *

 

Harry rolled to the side so he wasn’t crushing Draco. A twitch of his fingers and a brief pulse of wandless magic cleared up the mess.

It didn’t do anything to help Draco’s thoroughly debauched look, Harry noticed. The other man was still flushed and panting. He quite enjoyed the purple mark forming below his jaw, specifically placed so it was impossible to hide without a spell.

Draco noticed Harry’s self-satisfied smirk.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replied innocently. “I’m first for the shower.” He rolled to his feet and stretched, pushing his pants the rest of the way off. Then he leaned over to drop a gentle kiss on Draco’s lips. “I love you, you know.” Draco smiled.

“Love you, too.”

Harry figured he had until Draco was out of the shower before he noticed the mark.

Sure enough, Draco strolled into the kitchen in his dressing gown, rubbing the mark.

“Potter, what the hell is this?!” he demanded.

“I should hope you can recognise a love bite when you see one,” Harry smirked. “Wear something nice but casual. We’re visiting the Weasleys today.” Draco sputtered.

“You’re not serious,” he demanded. Harry just looked at him over the top of the Daily Prophet. “Harry! I can’t go out with this thing on my neck! I can’t even hide it,” he whined.

“That was kind of the point,” Harry informed him. He sighed and set the paper aside, moving to wrap his arms around Draco’s waist. “Call it a claim. I want them to know you’re mine.” He felt Draco shiver just a little at that.

“Is this some dragon instinct you have?” he asked curiously. Harry shrugged.

“It might be,” he conceded, “but it might just be me being possessive. It’s hard to tell apart sometimes.” He looked Draco in the eye. “If it bothers you that much, I’ll cover it for you, but I like it there.”

“No, it’s fine,” Draco admitted. “It just took me by surprise.”

“Good,” Harry breathed. Then he kissed him until Draco was weak in the knees.

* * *

 

Draco steadied Harry as he stumbled out of the Floo at the Burrow.

“I have never gotten the hang of those things,” he muttered as Draco helped brush soot from his shoulders. Draco just laughed.

The house seemed fairly quiet, and the room they had entered was empty. Harry straightened his shirt, then took Draco’s hand, lacing their fingers. He looked Draco over, eyes lingering on the purple mark.

“Ready?” Draco wasn’t so sure, but he nodded anyway. “Molly!” Harry called, pulling him toward the kitchen.

Mrs. Weasley met them at the door, wand and half-peeled potato in hand. Upon seeing Harry, she immediately tried to hug him while still holding both objects.

“Harry! It’s so good to see you,” she exclaimed, holding him tightly at arm’s length to look him over. “And Draco!” Draco found himself similarly engulfed. “We were so worried about you!”

Draco floundered, unsure of what to do with his fluttering hands. After a moment, he tentatively hugged the redheaded woman back, which only prompted her to squeeze tighter.

“Help me,” he mouthed at Harry, who only chuckled and rolled his eyes. Eventually, Mrs. Weasley held him out to study him, just as she had done to Harry. She blushed a bit but smiled knowingly when she saw the mark.

Draco found himself prodded into a chair next to Harry at the scrubbed wooden table and presented with a generous bowl of soup and a plate of fat sausages and fresh bread smothered in butter. A spoon was thrust into his grip and a gentle hand smoothed his hand as she bustled about the kitchen, chattering. He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who only shrugged, mouth already full of sausage. Draco shrugged back and applied himself to his soup.

“It’s so nice to have you here, dear, you don’t drop by nearly as often as you should,” Mrs. Weasley was saying. She continued without waiting for an answering. “I know you’re a busy man these days, what with Teddy and the work you do in the Wizengamot. I do like your ideas, I keep reading about them in the Daily Prophet, it’s such a shame all the rest are too stuck in their ways to recognise any change for the good.”

Draco marveled that the woman could keep up a monologue at such a pace without stopping for breath, all while preparing a small feast. She was nothing like his own mother, but she was strong and capable in her own way, and she was respected by her family, possibly more than the quiet, retiring Narcissa was.

“Thank you, Molly,” Harry managed to fit in. She smiled at him happily.

“You’re welcome, dear.” She turned back to overseeing the mountain of potatoes peeling and slicing themselves. “I imagine it’s a real relief for you to have Draco around to help with Teddy. That boy’s as energetic as anything, and you taking care of him all by yourself! I know I’d have collapsed if I didn’t have Arthur those first years with Bill.” Draco highly doubted this, but he couldn’t seem to empty his mouth of bread fast enough to say so. “And you two look so happy together! It’s such a beautiful sight, the first flush of love. You’ve been on your own for far too long, Harry dear, though I can understand that.” Her voice lowered, and her movements stilled for a moment. “The War wasn’t easy on any of us.”

Then she straightened and gave them a smile that almost looked effortless, and Draco found his opinion of her rising yet again.

“I do hope you’ll both stay for a while, everyone would be so happy to see you, Harry dear, Arthur and I have been in such a state ever since Kingsley told us what happened. Will you stay for supper?”

“Draco?” Harry asked. Draco hesitated for just a moment, thinking of Weasley and Granger and Ginerva, but here was Harry, making sure it was alright with him to stay for a while with the people he considered his family.

“Of course we will, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, giving her his most charming smile. She blushed faintly and smiled back, no trace of suspicion in her open expression, and Draco realised he had found a friend in the Weasley matriarch.

“Oh, dear, you must call me Molly,” she said. Harry squeezed his hand in silent thanks. “Tell you what, I give Bill and Ron a call and we’ll have a proper family dinner!”

And just like that, Draco found himself a part of Harry’s family.

* * *

 

Stuffed full of Molly’s roast pork and peas, Harry reclined on the sofa in the living room of the Burrow. Draco leaned heavily into his side, the two of them watching Teddy shriek with laughter as Bill tickled him. He had been succeeding, for the most part, in ignoring Ginny’s glares during dinner whenever they landed on Draco, but now she was glaring at Teddy, and his dragon didn’t like that.

Teddy had surprised all the Weasleys with his new appearance, except Molly, who always seemed to know more than she let on. Ron and Hermione had frowned at his grey eyes and pale skin, and Ginny had scowled and refused to talk to him.

He watched her throw one last blistering glare at Draco, then Teddy as she left the room.

“I’ll be right back,” he murmured to Draco, heaving himself off the couch to follow her.

He found Ginny in the back yard, staring up at the sky.

“What’s the problem, Gin?” he asked as gently as possible.

“Nothing.” He frowned.

“It’s clearly something,” he argued. “You won’t speak to Teddy, and you can’t look at Draco without glaring at him.”

“I haven’t got a problem,” she said with a hollow laugh. “You’re the one with the problem. How can you be with him? He’s disgusting!”

“He’s beautiful,” Harry countered softly, thinking of the smiles Draco gave him in the early morning, still soft with sleep.

“He’s a Death Eater! And a man!” she cried. “What’s wrong with you, Harry? Is it just because he’s around all the time? Is it a phase?”

“Is that what this is about?” Harry asked incredulously. “You don’t like having him around because it means I’m gay?”

“You can’t be gay! You dated me! And-“

“And it always felt off.” Harry cut her off. “I didn’t understand it because I didn’t know what love was like then, and I was always too distracted by my responsibilities anyway. It wasn’t until after the War that I finally found someone I could love, and it happened to be a guy, and I was in a situation that forced me to accept that very quickly.” He stopped there, refusing to say anything more about Theo.

“I don’t understand,” she cried softly, plaintively. Harry sighed.

“You’ve always thought of me as your hero, but that’s not what I am. I’m a real person, and I’m not going to fall in love with you, and we’re not going to be married. I’m gay, for one, and I have Draco.” He spotted a flash of pale in the dark doorway and looked up to see Draco leaning there, a sleepy Teddy balanced on his hip. Harry met his soft grey eyes as he spoke. “He’s strong and intelligent and beautiful and real and everything I never thought I would find. I love him, and he’s the one I can see myself married to and raising a family with.”

“No!” Ginny collapsed into tears. Harry stepped back, toward the house.

“I’m sorry Ginny, but that’s the way it is, and I won’t let you hurt Draco or Teddy because of it.”

He met Draco at the doorway, wrapping his arms around his waist and carefully avoiding jostling Teddy.

“Did you hear it?”

“Did you mean it?” Draco asked softly. Harry gave him a chaste, gentle kiss.

“Yes.”

Draco leaned forward slightly, resting his head on Harry’s shoulder.

“Let’s go home.”


	18. EPILOGUE

Movement woke Draco to the predawn greyness outside. Harry had shifted out from his usual place beneath Draco to sit on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands. The hint of light through the window outlined his form, as naked as they had fallen asleep the night before.

Draco stretched and shifted up to kneel behind Harry with arms wrapped around his stomach, tucking his chin over the other man’s shoulder. He said nothing, merely waited for Harry to speak as they watched the day dawn.

“Happy Halloween,” Harry said in an empty voice when the sun breached the horizon. Draco hummed. “Happy as it gets, anyway. Sometimes I wish I could just skip straight from October 30th to November 1st, miss Halloween entirely.” He lost himself to his thoughts again.

Draco stayed silent. This was how they dealt with their pasts and their problems. No one pushed or prodded or questioned. They only offered silence and support, for as long as it was needed. Too many people had demanded instant answers. He and Harry, they couldn’t work that way. Theirs was a quiet, accepting love.

The sun was fully up when Harry spoke again. When he did, it was clear that his thoughts had brought him to something he hadn’t spoken to Draco about yet: his childhood.

“I didn’t even know them. Everyone told me I was just like my father, the spitting image, but with my mother’s eyes. Even Snape thought I was James Potter in miniature, and he hated me for it. I had no idea what my parents were like. I’ve still no idea, just a few stories and one bad memory from Snape. I wonder if he ever knew I couldn’t be my father, not when I grew up so differently.”

He rolled back onto the bed, dragging Draco with him. Draco ran a soothing hand across his ribs. Harry tangled the fingers of one hand in Draco’s fine hair and spoke to the ceiling.

“I wish he’d had a more open mind. We grew up a lot alike, Snape and I. His father wasn’t the nicest guy, from what I’ve seen. Tobias Snape was a Muggle who yelled at his wife and child a lot. Vernon Dursley was a Muggle who kept his unwanted nephew in a cupboard under the stairs.”

Silence fell again, and Draco could feel Harry slowly relaxing the muscles that had tensed up automatically.

“I didn’t even get to have normal childhood fears, like spiders or the dark. I had lots of both in my cupboard. I thought it was so funny that Ron was so deathly afraid of spiders in second year. It didn’t make any sense to me.

“Before the Dementors, the thing I was most afraid of was starving to death. That was their favorite punishment, the Dursleys. I’d do some accidental magic, and they’d lock me in the cupboard for a few days without food. I ate like it was going to be taken away from me at Hogwarts. I guess I was always pretty scrawny in school. It didn’t help that all my clothes were left-overs from my obese cousin, Dudley.

“I hated Dudley, too. I always had to make sure I wasn’t as good as him. He used to threaten any kid that seemed friendly toward me. When those kids ran out, his little gang used to just chase me down and beat me up. They called it ‘Harry Hunting,’ like it was some great foxhunt. I didn’t have a friend before I got on the Hogwarts Express.”

* * *

 

Harry could feel the heat of Draco’s blush on the bare skin of his chest when he brought up their first (second) meeting. This was part of the reason he both needed to and didn’t want to tell Draco about his childhood.

“I don’t pretend to know what it was like for you then, but I want you to know where I was at that moment. I grew up unwanted, told I was a burden that had to earn my keep. I was a freak because of my magic, which I didn’t even believe in, thanks to Vernon. The only thing I knew, right up until I turned eleven, was that my parents were unemployed drunks who died in a car crash and carelessly left me in the care of my upstanding and hard-working Aunt and Uncle, who already had their hands full with their own son. I answered to ‘Boy’ more than my own name, and it seemed perfectly normal for me to live in a cupboard while my cousin had two bedrooms to himself.

“I turn eleven and I meet a giant, and then I’m thrust into this world I never knew about, and everyone there thought they knew more about me than I did myself. Suddenly there’s a boy my age talking to me about Houses and surnames and weird sports, and I have no idea what to say, because all I want is to make a friend. Maybe Ron wasn’t the ideal person, and maybe he did stay at first because of my name and the scar, but he had a big family and twin brothers who helped me even when they didn’t know me, and I wanted that.

“You came in just because you’d heard I was there, and you insulted my first friend, even if we weren’t really friends yet. All I could think of was Dudley, scaring and chasing off anyone who was ever nice to me. All my life, I had just wanted to stand up against Dudley, but he was so much bigger than me and I had had too many years of learning never to cross him. But you were my size, and I’d had so such brainwashing with you. I thought, maybe I can’t beat Dudley, but I could take a stand against you, I could be strong for once in my life and do something for me.”

Quiet reigned before Harry choked out a humourless laugh.

“Six years of fighting, all because you reminded me of Dudley that day. I don’t know whether to be amazed or disgusted at myself.”

Draco planted a hand across his mouth before he could say anything else. Harry let the stillness creep back into their shared space, wrapping around them gently.

“When… _that_ day…” he began haltingly, speaking into Harry’s shoulder the way Harry had spoken to the ceiling, “when I found you, was that your cupboard?”

Harry laced the fingers of his free hand with Draco’s and squeezed, shutting out the memory of blood and tears and a single choked gasp and _that_ day.

“Yes. Before you came, I hadn’t slept in a proper bed since the Battle. I suppose it was some way of reverting to something that felt safe when I was very young, but I couldn’t handle all that open space. I put the cupboard in after a couple sleepless nights, made it the same in every way. I never bothered to move the bed from the room, and I only used it when I my magic gets out of control and I need bitten.” He paused. “I suppose it’s odd, thinking of my cupboard as my safe place, but it was. They locked me in it sometimes, but it never hurt me. They did, but they didn’t come near the cupboard if they could help it. They left me alone when I was in there.”

Harry suddenly felt that he could say nothing more, so he kissed Draco’s hair instead. Draco squeezed his hand, showing his understanding. Then they got out of bed to prepare for the new day.

* * *

 

“Father?” Draco turned at the voice to find Teddy tugging on his robes. “What’s wrong with Daddy?”

How do you explain to a child everything that had happened in the War? If Draco knew Harry, and he knew him rather well, he was having one of those days were he got lost in what had been, and where he still felt it was mostly his fault. How do you tell that to an innocent child?

“Harry is…” Draco struggled, crouched to meet Teddy’s silver gaze with his own, “remembering some very bad things today. You remember he lost his parents, just like you lost yours?” Teddy nodded solemnly. “Well, Harry lost his on Halloween, and, when he was younger, a lot of bad things happened to him because of it. He’s remembering them now, and that’s what’s making him sad.”

“I don’t understand,” Teddy said, expression somewhere between a frown and a pout. Draco ran a hand through his wild black hair, Harry’s hair.

“Oh, Wolfling,” he whispered, “neither do I, really, and I hope we never have to.”

Teddy’s frown deepened, but he said nothing.

“Now!” Draco smiled and straightened up, changing the subject. “Why don’t you put a jacket on and get Romulus, and we’ll go play in the garden while the sun’s still up, alright?”

Teddy smiled brightly and rushed off to find the wolf cub, leaving Draco shaking his head at the boy’s energy.

* * *

 

“Reggie, what’s wrong?”

Harry looked up from his potatoes at Draco’s concerned voice, noting that Reggie hadn’t eaten anything yet.

“I don’t feel good,” he said, looking uncomfortable. Harry recongnised the way he was shifting in his chair, rubbing his hands along his arms.

“Do you feel sick?” he asked. _Please, please just be a stomach flu._

“No,” the boy shook his head. “I feel kinda…itchy.”

_Oh, Merlin, no._ Harry didn’t need this right now, not on top of his own problem.

“Itchy?” Draco repeated, reaching for him. Harry held out a hand to stop him, carefully avoiding contact with either one’s skin. “Harry?”

“Don’t touch him, Draco,” he warned, pained at the hurt that flashed in Draco’s eyes. “Please, just…trust me.” After a moment, Draco nodded. “Teddy, I need you to go up to your room now and shut the door.” Teddy looked confused, but he knew better than to argue against the commanding tone of Harry’s voice. “Winky!” The small elf stepped forward. “Raise the wards on Teddy’s room.” She curtsied and was gone again.

“Harry?” He ignored Draco for the moment, studying Reggie intently. The boy’s eyes were beginning to glow, emerald green with that circle of ice blue that was Regulus or Tom or both. But it didn’t matter where the color of his eyes came from. The only thing that mattered was where this came from, and whether Harry could touch him safely.

Harry’s came as part of the aftermath of Voldemort’s defeat, a side effect of being a Horcrux actively linked to Voldemort’s soul and possibly of dying and coming back to life. If Reggie got this from Harry’s blood and magic, then Harry could touch him.

But if it came straight from Tom…well, that was more complicated. If it did, then they both got it from Tom and, theoretically, Harry could still touch him. However, something like this was fairly unpredictable, and touching Reggie could be very dangerous.

“Harry! What’s going on?” Draco sounded very frustrated and more than a little bit scared, though Harry still did not turn from his study of Reggie.

“It’s a magic overflow. Reggie’s got magic from three sources, not two like other children. His magic has been building up since he was born, and it’s become too much for him to contain anymore. It’s wild now, and he doesn’t have the strength or experience to control it. Just touching him could make it all lash out.”

If he hadn’t been watching so intently, so carefully, he might not have notice when the glow of his eyes flickered. Reggie’s hands started to twitch.

Not good, very not good.

“It’s because it’s unbalanced,” he said quickly, trying to tell Draco what he needed to know in the least amount of time possible. “Powerful Light and Dark, trying to coexist. Once in a while, the tension breaks in an overflow. Mine’s the same way, but I channel it when it breaks.”

He was just going to have to go for it.

“I’m going to drain it off him. Back up.”

Harry gritted his teeth and cupped Reggie’s face in his hands. There was the burning of foreign magic defending against him, then the fizzy warmth of his own and the just as familiar oily feeling of Voldemort’s Darkness. Harry’s own hands began to shake and he pulled the magic away from his son, into his own veins. The foreign magics burned, Regulus Black’s like ice and whatever part that was purely Reggie’s like fire and acid. The other magics went freely, the fizziness joining his own, the oily bit combining with Harry’s pool of Voldemort’s magic, laying on top of his like a film.

It worked. The glow in Reggie’s eyes died and the tension left his face before he slumped in his chair, unconscious.

“He’s alright now, you can touch him,” he muttered, clenching his jaw and the muscles in his neck. He stepped back as Draco rushed forward to check.

* * *

 

Draco could hardly believe what was happening. A three-year-old have a magic overflow? Never in his wildest dreams.

“Is he okay?” he asked, cradling the boy’s face in his hands.

“He’s alright now,” Harry repeated. “He’ll be fine. He might not even remember it.” He could hear Harry call for Kreacher to put the boy to bed.

Reggie was so still, though. How could he be alright? How could any boy so young be alright when they had so much magic it scratched at their skin and had to be drained away? He turned to ask Harry for more explanation.

And stopped when he saw his face.

Harry was pale and sweating. His hands were shaking, and he looked weak around the knees. His eyes flickered around the room, seeing nothing. They were so bright, they seemed to glow from his pale face.

Then he realised they actually were glowing.

“Harry…” He reached out a hand, but Harry skittered back a step.

“Don’t touch me,” he spat, shaking. “Don’t…I…I need to get away.” He turned on his heel.

Acting on impulse, Draco lunged for him, catching him just in time to be caught in his Apparation. Nothingness pressed on him, squeezing him through space, and then he was with Harry on the deserted moor where they’d flown together. Harry pushed him away, backing up with wide eyes.

“What have you done?” he whispered, but Draco had no answer. “Oh, Merlin save you, what have you done?”

The glow was more pronounced in the dark on the moor, reminding Draco of the Killing Curse in color. The eerie green spread, running through his veins and arteries and emanating faintly from his skin as Draco watched. This was nothing like he had ever seen before.

Waves of power began to flow out, with Harry at the center. They flattened the heather and buffeted Draco with the warm oil feeling of combined Light and Dark magic. He staggered backwards, but remained standing.

That’s not so dangerous, he thought.

Then Harry caught fire.

Flames licked over his skin and caught at his clothes, rippling eerie green and gold and black, casting preternatural shadows across the empty moor. They twisted and writhed like Fiendfyre, burning his clothes away, falling in fat drops like water to the ground, creating a circle of charred earth beneath Harry’s feet.

“HARRY!” Draco screamed, rushing for him, but Harry stopped him with a raised hand.

“Stay there,” he ordered. His echoed strangely, as though he had three voices instead of one. “Stay there,” he repeated.

Then he planted his feet, stretched out his arms and roared, shooting a column of fire into the sky, as if he were his dragon form.

* * *

 

Magic tore through Harry and burned high into the night sky: his, Voldemort’s, Regulus Black’s, Reggie’s, he forced it into the air, away from Draco, and it all burned bright and hot. He screamed until his throat was raw, until the unnatural flames burned themselves out and left him naked in the dark, darkness that was darker for afterimages of fire around him.

Except…there. A slash of pale marring the blackness. Draco.

Draco, who had come along. Draco, who stayed at risk to himself.

Draco, who was probably hurt by the way he’d shoved him away.

Not yet, he thought. Later.

His strength left him then, burning out just as the fire had done, and he fell to his hands and knees. He pressed shaking fingers into the ground, digging into the ash. Coughs and great heaving breaths wracked his body, his skin turning to goose pimples in the cold night air.

“Draco,” he rasped. Strong arms wrapped around him, trying to help him up, but he shook his head. “Hold on,” he ordered. He reached for the only thing he had that had survived the fire, the heavily charmed and protected emergency portkey pendant hanging on a thin chain around his neck.

_> >Save me,<<_ he hissed, and the familiar jerk behind his navel whisked them away.

They landed with a thump in his bedroom on the fifth floor. Kreacher was there in the next second, pouring potions down his throat and helping him lie on the bed. After he had taken all the healing and energy potions, he beckoned to Draco to lie down with him.

“I’m sorry I didn’t warn you about that, with the Fiendfyre and all,” he whispered when Draco was finally arranged across his chest, trembling slightly. “It happens once a year now, always about this time. I could feel it coming, but I didn’t think it would come so soon. Taking in Reggie’s magic triggered it.”

Draco shook his head as well as he could, pressed against Harry, but he didn’t say anything. Harry frowned.

“Are you alright?”

“I was so fucking scared,” he whispered shakily, then burrowed his face into Harry’s neck, holding him tightly.

“Hey, don’t be,” he soothed, running a hand along Draco’s spine. “It’s alright, I’m fine, it’s just something I have to do. Nothing’s going to take me away from you, not now that I’ve got you,” he promised. He pressed a kiss to the top of Draco’s head. “Nothing.”

Slowly, slowly, Draco’s shaking body stilled, and his hold on Harry loosened.

“You mean that?” he asked, voice soft and unsure.

“Of course I do,” Harry answered, quiet and certain. “You and I are going to spend more years than we can count being happy, even in people stare at us and we’ve got secrets and I occasionally have to spontaneously combust. We’ve spent too many years being unhappy and afraid. You are the best thing I’ve had come out of a bad situation since Reggie was born, and I am never. Letting. You. Go. You and me, we’re going to be happy for a very long time.”

Harry promised and hoped and prayed that it would be true, that their calm life would last forever.

It would shatter in only a year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: The end, but not quite. I have plans for our boys, so be on the lookout for more works in the Building a Home series. Like these!  
> 1) Inked Bones, Inked Veins  
>  The prequel to Guardianship, it's the story of the secretive events of three years prior that resulted in Reggie and caused so much strife.  
> 2) Interlude  
>  The as-of-yet untitled story of Harry and Draco's first Christmas together, including facing Lucius.  
> 3) The Dragon's Mate  
>  The sequel to Guardianship, but I'm not about to spoil it with any hints!


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